THE     EVE   OF  A  GOD 


W-A-FRASER 


3! 


The  Eye  of  a  God 

And  Other  Tales 


. 

The  Eye  of  a  God 

And  other  tales 
of  East  and  West 


By 

W.  A.  Fraser 


New  York 

Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 
1899 


The  very  atr  was  full  of  dewwiat  noiiei 
at  Hpo  *Tbit  slipped  ixte  the  hbuit. 


The  Eye  of  a  God 

And  other  tales 
of  East  and  West 


By 

W.  A.  Fraser 


New  York 

Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 
1899 


Copyright,   1899  ty 

DOUBLEDAY  &  McCl-URK  Co. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  EYE  OF  A  GOD  I 

"KiNG  FOR  A  DAY"      .          .  .  -47 

DjALMA                 .                .                .                .  .  .95 

GOD  AND  THE  PAGAN       .          .  .  .    175 

His  PASSPORT          .          .          .  .  .    215 

THE  CONVERSION  OF  SWEET-GRASS  .  .233 


2061730 


THE  EYE  OF  A  GOD 


THE  EYE  OF  A  GOD 

WHEN  the  strong  arm  of  the  law 
reached  out  for  Moung  Ouray  and 
gathered  in  Hpo  Thit  instead,  it  was 
this  way : 

The  gray  Burmese  night  was  thick 
when  Hpo  Thit  glided  like  a  snake  up 
the  steps  of  the  police  bungalow,  and 
told  Valentyne,  the  superintendent,  that 
Moung  Ouray  had  opium  —  many  balls 
of  it  —  hidden  away  in  his  house. 

When  he  spoke  of  Moung  Ouray, 
Valentyne  started  a  little,  for  Ouray  was 
Mi  Mra's  brother,  and  Mi  Mra  she  was 
—  but  this  is  a  story  of  Hpo  Thit. 

"  How  do  you  know  of  the  opium  ?  " 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


asked  Valentyne.  "  Did  you  put  the 
beastly  stuff  there  yourself,  and  then 
come  to  cackle  of  the  eggs  of  your  own 
laying  *? " 

"  No,  sir.  Abdul,  who  is  a  dog  of  a 
Mussulman,  saw  Moung  Ouray  take  it 
off  the  '  fireboat '  which  goes  up  the 
river." 

"  Did  Abdul,  who  is  a  Mussulman, 
see  where  Ouray  hid  the  opium  *?  " 

"No,  sir;  but  will  not  a  Burman  put 
his  jewels  in  the  strong  box  that  he 
keeps  near  his  bed?" 

There  was  a  soft  rustle  just  beyond 
the  plaited  bamboo  wall,  close  behind 
Valentyne's  head.  It  was  the  soft  rustle 
of  silk  as  Mi  Mra  wrapped  the  lemon- 
colored  scarf  about  her  throat,  and 
slipped  like  a  gentle  shadow  down  the 
back  steps  of  the  bungalow. 

Valentyne  gave  a  toss  in  his  chair, 
and  coughed  long  and  lustily.  That 


The  Rye  of  a  God 


was  diplomatic,  for  jungle  men,  like 
Hpo  Thit,  have  sharp  eyes. 

In  and  out  among  the  mango-trees 
the  girl's  slight  figure  flitted,  as  she 
sped  swiftly  through  the  grove  toward 
Moung  Ouray's  little  bamboo  house. 

"  The  Thakine,  who  makes  Mi  Mra 
laugh,  asked  Hpo  Thit  if  he  had  laid 
the  eggs  in  brother's  box.  Perhaps  he 
did ;  we  shall  see  —  ha,  ha,  ha !  "  and 
her  teeth,  which  were  pink  from  the 
juice  of  the  supari,  gleamed  like  coral 
beads. 

Valentyne  pondered  for  a  few  mo 
ments  over  what  Hpo  Thit  had  told 
him.  His  duty  was  straight  enough, 
but — but —  "  It  's  a  put-up  job  !  "  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "  It  's  the  same 
old  bazaar  trick  of  ruining  a  man." 

And  also  was  not  Moung  Ouray  Mi 
Mra's  brother  ? 

"  I    suppose    I  've   got  to  help  this 

3 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


blackguard  in  his  villainy,  though,"  he 
thought;  and  calling  his  orderly,  told 
him  to  bring  the  sergeant  and  a  couple 
of  police  from  the  jail. 

Together  they  marched  down  the 
metaled  road,  between  the  peepul-trees; 
just  where  a  sweet-scented  champac 
grows  opposite  the  Beda  Pagoda  they 
stopped.  Moung  Ouray's  bungalow 
lay  just  beyond. 

"  Not  got  opium,  sar,"  said  Ouray,  in 
his  knock-kneed  English,  when  the  po 
lice  filed  into  his  little  room,  and  Val- 
entyne  told  him  what  was  wanted. 

When  the  box  was  unlocked,  on  top 
lay  his  handsome  silk  gown ;  then  one 
after  another  the  jaunty  little  jackets 
and  divers  other  things  were  laid  on  the 
floor. 

In  the  bottom  was  a  big  round  lacquer 
box.  When  the  sergeant  lifted  the  lid, 
there  were  four  balls  there  —  four  oval, 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


white  balls,  as  unlike  opium  as  they 
could  well  be,  for  they  were  eggs. 

Now  Moung  Ouray  knew  that  he 
had  not  put  the  eggs  there ;  he  did  not 
make  a  pantry  of  his  clothes-box.  Also 
had  not  Hpo  Thit  left  them.  The 
balls  he  had  slipped  into  the  lacquer 
box  while  Moung  Ouray  was  down  at 
the  play  were  round  and  black,  not  at 
all  like  eggs. 

The  two  Punjabi  policemen  were  grin 
ning  from  ear  to  ear.  Valentyne  gave  a 
sarcastic  little  laugh,  and  asked  Hpo 
Thit  if  that  was  the  opium  he  had  seen 
Moung  Ouray  carrying  off  the  steamer. 

"  Here  is  not  got  afim,"  said  the  ser 
geant  ;  and  asked  if  he  should  search 
further. 

Before  Valentyne  could  answer,  a  fiend 
ish  uproar  smote  upon  his  ears.  It  was 
as  though  the  play  and  the  whole  clash 
of  bazaar  noises  had  been  suddenly  emp- 

5 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


tied  into  the  compound  of  the  Phoongye 
Kyoung  across  the  road. 

It  was  a  proper  Oriental  babel,  the 
cry  of  "  thief"  cutting  through  the  gen 
eral  noise  like  a  sharp-edged  knife. 

"The  bazaar  budmashes  [blackguards] 
are  killing  some  one,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"  We  '11  have  to  go  and  look  into 
that  first,"  said  the  superintendent : 
"we  '11  come  back  here  and  finish  the 
search  after.  You  must  come,  too, 
Ouray,  so  that  this  devil  cannot  say  that 
you  had  a  chance  to  hide  anything." 

That  also  was  diplomatic ;  but  it  was 
the  little  slip  of  losing  track  of  Hpo 
Thit  that  gave  the  nahts  (spirits) 
chance  to  work  more  mischief. 

"  Somebody  is  murdering  a  phoon- 
gye  "  (priest),  he  said  to  the  sergeant  as 
they  reached  the  road. 

Rushing  into  the  pagoda,  he  found 
the  phoongyes  in  the  temple  clustered 
6 


The  Eye  of  a  God 

about  the  big  Buddha,  the  "  Beda  Bud 
dha,"  as  it  was  known. 

The  priests  were  prostrated  at  the 
feet  of  the  great  image,  raving  and  la 
menting,  and  shrieking  in  despair. 

"  What  's  the  matter '! "  asked  Val- 
entyne. 

"  A  thief  has  stolen  the  Beda,  the  eye 
of  the  god,  the  ruby !  " 

And  they  pointed  to  a  great  hole  in 
the  forehead  of  the  Buddha,  where  the 
sacred  "Beda  Ruby"  had  been  for 
twelve  centuries. 

How  calm  and  dignified  the  ala 
baster  god  seemed,  sitting  there  with 
his  hand  resting  in  his  lap !  Through 
twelve  centuries  of  strife  and  passion, 
and  blood  and  carnage,  had  it  looked 
with  calm  serenity  upon  the  struggles 
of  the  little  men  who  had  come  and 
gone. 

Twelve    hundred    years    before    had 

7 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


King  Uzzana  given  it  to  the  Talopins 
of  Panja — Uzzana,  the  son  of  Mien- 
zaim,  and  Poaza,  the  Chinese  princess. 

The  seven  great  Kyoungs  of  Talo 
pins  which  Uzzana  founded  gained  him 
great  merit,  so  that  when  he  died  the 
"  Beda  Buddha  "  worked  miracles. 

And  now  for  twelve  hundred  years 
had  the  sacred  eye,  the  "  Beda  Ruby," 
done  even  so. 

The  mad  frenzy  of  the  priests  seemed 
like  the  petulant  temper  of  children; 
their  thin  brown  bodies,  draped  with 
the  sacred  yellow  robe,  swayed  and 
rocked  in  the  weird  light  of  their  flick 
ering  earth-oil  lamps,  as  they  called  the 
curse  of  their  offended  godhead  upon 
the  sacrilegious  thief  who  had  stolen 
the  ruby  —  taken  the  sacred  Beda. 

Valentyne  was  horror-struck  at  the 
audacity  of  the  thief,  for  the  Beda 
Buddha  was  the  most  sacred  image  in 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


all  Burmah.  Pilgrims  came  from  all 
over  the  Burmese  empire  to  strike  with 
the  stag's  horn  the  crescent-shaped 
gong  hanging  there  at  its  side,  and 
then  plead,  with  forehead  prone  on  the 
cemented  floor  in  front  of  the  god,  for 
the  intercession  of  the  Beda  with  Bud 
dha  Gautama. 

The  phoongyes  watched  it  night  and 
day,  and  how  any  one  had  managed  to 
steal  the  ruby,  Valentyne  could  not  un 
derstand. 

In  the  meantime  Hpo  Thit  had  glided 
silently  back  through  the  crotons,  and 
into  the  bungalow  once  more. 

The  very  air  was  full  of  demoniac 
noises  as  Hpo  Thit  slipped  into  the 
house,  for  the  crows,  aroused  by  the 
phoongyes'  uproar,  were  screaming  and 
shrieking  in  a  big  tamarind  that  tow 
ered  high  above  the  champac. 

Within  all  was  quiet,  and  Hpo  Thit 

9 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


lost  no  time  in  making  his  way  to  the 
box  they  had  so  lately  searched  for  the 
opium. 

The  little  lamp  was  still  burning,  so 
he  could  see  just  where  to  put  the 
small  round  packet  he  took  from  the 
roll  in  his  cloth  just  at  his  waist. 

He  put  it  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
teak-wood  box;  then,  actuated  by  a 
sudden  resolve,  he  picked  it  up,  un 
rolled  the  little  piece  of  yellow  cloth  in 
which  it  was  wrapped,  and  took  a  long, 
loving  look  at  it.  As  he  rolled  it  in 
his  hand  near  the  flickering  cotton  dip, 
the  little  room  seemed  bathed  in  a  flood 
of  warm,  blood-red  light.  Great  ruby- 
tinted  rays  shot  hither  and  thither,  until 
the  dazzling  brightness  lighted  up  the 
uncertain  gloom,  and  it  was  as  though 
red  wine  had  been  thrown  high  in  the 
bright,  noonday  sunshine. 

It  was  the  stolen  ruby;  and  night 
10 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


was  being  made  hideous  with  the  din 
across  the  road  in  the  Phoongye 
Kyoung. 

There  was  so  much  of  terror,  so  much 
of  menace,  in  the  hoarse  roar  of  the 
phoongyes,  and  the  crowd  of  Bud 
dhists  who  had  been  attracted  by  their 
cries,  that  his  heart  failed  him  —  he 
dropped  it  again  in  the  box,  and  passed 
silently,  swiftly  out  into  the  Burmese 
night. 

As  he  disappeared  a  small  figure 
glided  out  from  behind  a  Penang  mat 
which  served  as  curtain  to  a  doorway, 
and,  kneeling  over  the  box,  searched 
for  that  which  Hpo  Thit  had  put 
there. 

It  was  Mi  Mra.  "  Ho,  ho,  Hpo 
Thit !  Because  Moung  Ouray  told  Mi 
Mra  that  you  are  always  smoking  at  the 
opium,  and  because  of  that  Mi  Mra 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  you, 
ii 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


you  would  have  Valentyne  Thakine 
make  a  thief  of  Moung  Ouray." 

Then  she  disappeared  behind  the 
curtain  again,  and  the  oil  dip  nickered 
lower  and  lower,  and  only  the  outside 
clamor  crept  into  the  house  —  it  was  so 
still. 

Soon  there  was  the  steady  tramp, 
tramp  of  men  that  are  accustomed  to 
marching,  and  once  more  the  superin 
tendent  and  the  sergeant  and  the  police 
came  up  the  steps;  and  also  were 
Moung  Ouray,  and  Hpo  Thit,  and  the 
phoongyes,  and  others  there. 

"We  shall  find  the  opium,"  Hpo 
Thit  was  saying,  "  or  else  Moung  Ou 
ray  has  given  it  to  some  one,  to  some 
of  the  opium-eaters  to  steal  the  ruby 
for  him  —  the  great  ruby  which  was  in 
the  forehead  of  the  God  Beda.  If  the 
opium  is  gone  we  shall  find  the  ruby. 
If  the  ruby  is  not  here,  we  shall  find  the 

12 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


opium.  I  do  not  know  all  things  like 
the  Thakine;  but  that  is  the  way  of 
our  people." 

"  I  think  that  this  is  no  end  of  a  fool's 
game,"  said  Valentyne  to  the  sergeant ; 
"  but  we  might  as  well  finish  our  search 
while  we  are  at  it.  Where  shall  we 
look  first  ?  " 

"  In  the  box,  Thakine,"  eagerly  in 
terposed  Hpo  Thit.  "  If  the  opium  is 
not  there,  and  he  has  the  ruby,  there 
shall  we  find  it." 

So  once  more  the  sergeant  continued 
his  interrupted  search  of  the  box. 
There  was  nothing  beyond  a  pair  of 
Chinese  patent-leather  shoes,  a  palm- 
leaf  Buddhist  Bible,  and  Moung  Ouray's 
silken  head-dresses,  many  of  them 
packed  away  in  the  bottom. 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  Hpo  Thit," 
said  the  superintendent,  brusquely. 
"  What  I  really  ought  to  do  is  arrest 
13 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


you,  Hpo  Thit,  for  a  dangerous  lunatic ; 
but  I  '11  see  to  that  to-morrow.  In  the 
meantime,  sergeant,  just  beat  up  the 
surrounding  country  for  the  budmash 
that  has  taken  the  ruby." 

That  the  ruby  was  gone  was  a  facer 
to  Hpo  Thit;  first,  the  balls  of  opium 
had  disappeared,  but  that  he  had  at 
tributed  to  Moung  Ouray;  now  the 
ruby  had  vanished,  and  Moung  Ouray 
had  been  with  the  police  all  the  time. 

Then  he  saw  something  which  gave 
him  a  clew.  It  was  an  innocent  look 
ing  circlet  of  jessamine  flowers  lying  in 
front  of  the  box.  It  was  such  a  circlet 
as  the  girls  wore  on  their  hair,  and  it 
had  n't  been  lying  there  when  they 
searched  the  box  before. 

"  Of  a  certainty  Mi   Mra  has  taken 

the  ruby,"  murmured  Hpo  Thit,  "and 

has  gone  to  the  house  of  San  Shwe,  who 

is  her  father.     If  San  Shwe  will  keep  it, 

14 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


there  will  it  rest;  but  if  his  heart  fail 
him,  then  will  he  tell  her  to  take  it  to 
the  police  Thakine."  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost,  for  it  would  be  discov 
ered  that  he  had  stolen  it,  and  he  would 
also  lose  the  ruby. 

His  opportunity  to  steal  the  jewel 
had  come  to  him  just  as  he  was  leaving 
Moung  Ouray's  house,  after  having 
put  the  opium  in  the  box.  For  some 
unknown  reason,  probably  owing  to  the 
poay,  he  had  found  the  temple  deserted 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  had  knocked 
the  ruby  out  of  the  alabaster  with  his 
sword.  Then  the  sudden  fear,  and  the 
chance  to  implicate  Moung  Ouray  as 
the  thief,  his  other  scheme  having 
failed,  led  him  to  put  it  in  the  box. 
Now  he  knew  that  Mi  Mra  must  have 
seen  him  put  it  there,  and  as  he  would 
be  accused  of  stealing  it  anyway,  he 
meant  to  get  the  ruby  back. 

'5 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


Slipping  away  from  the  others  as  they 
came  out  of  Moung  Ouray's  house,  he 
quickly  sped  to  San  Shwe's  bungalow. 

As  he  approached  cautiously,  he 
could  see  Mi  Mra  and  her  mother  and 
father  sitting  on  the  bamboo  floor  earn 
estly  discussing  something.  "  They  will 
decide;  I  will  wait,"  he  muttered,  squat 
ting  on  his  heels  at  the  side  of  the  road. 

Then  Mi  Mra  came  out,  and  started 
off  across  the  dried  maidan  toward  the 
superintendent's  bungalow. 

That  was  Hpo  Thit's  chance. 

"  If  you  tell  about  it,"  he  said,  as  he 
left  her,  "  I  will  swear  that  you  and 
Moung  Ouray  stole  it  and  gave  it  to 
me.  Then  the  judge  Thakine  will  ask 
how  you  should  know  that  I  had  it  if 
you  had  not  given  it  to  me." 

Mi    Mra  went  back   to  her  father's 
house;  she  wanted  to  think,  wanted  to 
do  that  which  was  the  least  trouble. 
16 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


In  the  morning  she  told  Valentyne 
about  it,  and  in  an  hour  he  and  the  ser 
geant  and  a  file  of  police  were  chasing 
after  Hpo  Thit.  But  Hpo  Thit  had 
gone.  One  more  dacoit  had  been  cre 
ated.  His  brother,  the  Thuggie's,  gun 
had  gone  with  him.  The  Thuggie 
did  n't  know  that,  for  Hpo  Thit  had 
stolen  it.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  muz 
zle-loading  musket. 

It  is  difficult  to  run  down  a  Burman 
in  the  jungle,  and  it  was  the  next  day 
before  they  came  up  with  their  quarry. 

He  had  a  couple  of  shots  at  them  in 
a  blundering  sort  of  way  with  the  old 
musket  without  hitting  anybody;  but 
just  as  Valentyne  charged  in  on  him  at 
the  head  of  his  police,  Hpo  Thit  fired 
again  at  close  quarters,  and  the  superin 
tendent  went  down,  shot  in  the  shoulder. 

Only  for  the  sergeant  Hpo  Thit 
would  have  been  carved  up  into  regu- 

'7 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


lation  slices ;  only  for  the  sergeant  and 
Valentyne,  too,  for  he  bellowed  out: 
"Don't  kill  him!  Take  the  beast 
alive ! " 

"Bring  him  here  and  search  him  at 
once,"  said  Valentyne,  who  was  sitting 
up  now,  though  feeling  deuced  groggy ; 
and  while  the  sergeant  bound  up  his 
wound  they  stripped  Hpo  Thit  clean 
as  a  whistle.  But  there  was  no  ruby  — 
nothing  but  much  tattooing  discovered. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  red 
stone?"  asked  the  superintendent;  but 
Hpo  Thit  would  n't  answer. 

Then  they  got  back  to  Thayetmyo 
as  quickly  as  they  could,  carrying  Val 
entyne  on  an  improvised  dhooly,  in 
the  shape  of  a  charpoy,  which  they  got 
from  the  woon  of  a  neighboring  village, 
by  the  gentle  art  of  compulsion. 

When  Hpo  Thit  was  brought  back 
by  the  police,  he  was  met  by  a  recep- 
18 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


tion  committee  composed  of  orthodox 
Buddhists,  who  were  gathered  together 
with  the  avowed  object  of  honoring 
him  with  the  crucifixion. 

To  guard  against  his  attaining  Nir 
vana  by  a  fluke,  as  it  were,  he  was  to 
be  crucified  head  downward. 

Valentyne,  who  was  very  weak  by 
this  time,  had  great  difficulty  in  ex 
plaining  to  them  that  the  government 
could  not  allow  such  a  thing  to  take 
place. 

"Have  patience,  good  friends,"  he 
said  —  "  we  must  be  merciful " ;  and 
he  talked  cheerfully  of  the  lifelong 
years  of  living  hell  Hpo  Thit  would 
surely  get  on  the  Andaman  Islands  for 
his  part  in  the  little  circus. 

In  a  general  sort  of  way  the  sergeant 
explained  to  them  that  they,  who  knew 
little  about  such  things,  could  only 
make  Hpo  Thit  wish  he  had  not  done 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


this  thing  for  a  very  few  minutes  at  the 
outside.  But  the  Thakine,  who  was 
the  Government,  could  cause  Hpo  Thit 
to  revile  the  day  he  was  projected  into 
the  world  by  a  thief  of  a  jackal,  for 
years  and  years. 

So  Valentyne  was  taken  to  the  hos 
pital,  and  Hpo  Thit  was  put  in  a  cage 
behind  iron  bars,  just  like  the  mangy 
tiger  they  had  seen  down  at  Rangoon. 

"  I  '11  have  the  bullet  out  of  you  in 
a  jiffy,"  said  the  Civil  Surgeon  to  Val 
entyne,  as  he  rolled  up  his  sleeves  and 
opened  his  case  of  shining  instruments. 

"  Damned  if  I  can  understand  it, 
though,"  he  said,  as  he  probed  away; 
for  the  jiffy  time  had  gone  by  and  he 
had  n't  even  touched  the  bullet  yet. 
"  It  must  be  one  of  those  infernal  skew- 
gee  slugs  of  theirs  that  he  has  pumped 
into  you.  It  seems  to  have  struck  you 
in  the  arm  as  you  were  flourishing  that 

20 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


sword  of  yours,  and  then  traveled  on 
down  along  your  ribs.  God  knows 
where  it  is  now,  for  I  can't  find  it. 
You  've  lost  enough  blood  over  it  for 
just  now,  anyway;  but  if  there  seems 
to  be  any  complication  setting  in,  I  '11 
have  another  try  for  it." 

The  surgeon  saw  it  was  about  time 
to  desist,  for  Valentyne  was  looking 
pretty  well  used  up. 

Then  Hpo  Thit  was  brought  up  be 
fore  the  Deputy  Commissioner  for  a 
committal  hearing,  as  it  were,  charged 
with  stealing  the  sacred  ruby,  and  with 
attempting  murder  of  the  superintendent. 

But  the  priests  were  clamorous  for 
the  ruby  eye  of  their  Buddha  —  for  the 
matter  of  Valentyne  dying  or  not  they 
did  not  bother  their  heads :  even  they 
would  let  Hpo  Thit  go  free,  so  be  it 
they  could  come  by  the  sacred  gem 
again.  The  Burmese  archbishop,  the 

21 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


Thathanabaing,  had  come  down  from 
Ava  to  see  about  the  recovery  of  the 
stone. 

They  begged  the  Deputy  Commis 
sioner  to  give  Hpo  Thit  promise  of 
pardon  if  he  would  only  disclose  where 
he  had  hidden  the  Beda. 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  he  said,  "  for  the 
wounded  sahib  may  die;  the  doctor 
has  fished  for  the  bullet  and  can't  get 
it,  and  it  looks  bad  for  the  superinten 
dent's  life.  If  he  dies,  Hpo  Thit  will 
have  to  swing." 

But  if  the  Beda  might  be  recovered 
they  would  pay  to  Valentyne's  family  his 
full  value  in  good  English  sovereigns. 

The  Deputy  Commissioner  was  as 
anxious  to  recover  the  jewel  as  they 
were ;  so  he  promised  Hpo  Thit  that  if 
he  would  tell  where  it  was,  it  would 
help  him  much  when  the  time  of  his 
sentence  came. 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


"I  will  tell,"  said  Hpo  Thit,  "be- 
cause  it  will  be  easy  for  the  Thakine  to 
get  it;  and  then  the  Thakine  will  re 
member  at  the  time  of  the  sentence." 

The  priests  craned  their  thin,  shaven, 
buzzard-like  heads  eagerly  forward; 
even  the  Deputy  Commissioner  was  in 
tensely  excited,  for  if  he  should  recover 
this  sacred  Beda  it  would  be  well ;  if 
not,  the  papers  all  through  India  would 
have  their  fling  at  it,  and  his  life  would 
be  made  miserable  answering  inquiries 
from  the  government. 

The  court  was  as  silent  as  the  graven 
image  of  Buddha  itself,  as  they  waited 
for  Hpo  Thit  to  speak. 

Putting  the  palms  of  his  hands  to 
gether  in  front  of  his  face  in  the  form 
of  supplication,  Hpo  Thit  said  :  "  The 
red  stone  which  I  took  from  the  Ky- 
oung,  even  from  the  forehead  of  Bud 
dha,  is  in  the  police  Thakine's  body. 

23 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


I  fired  it  from  my  gun  the  last  time, 
because  I  had  no  bullets,  and  because  if 
it  could  work  a  miracle  it  would  stop 
the  police  that  I  might  get  away." 

This  statement  took  away  the  breath 
of  the  court.  The  silence  was  unbroken 
for  a  full  minute ;  then  the  chief  phoon- 
gye  said  :  "  Hpo  Thit  is  telling  lies;  he 
has  hid  it.  We  must  swear  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Deputy  Commis 
sioner,  "  he  must  make  oath  to  that,  for 
things  were  better  done  judicially." 

He  ordered  the  clerk  to  swear  him 
on  the  palm-leaf  Burmese  Bible. 

"No,  Thakine,"  said  the  priest,  in 
terrupting,  "  he  is  not  a  disciple  of  Bud 
dha.  He  is  a  jungle  man,  and  we 
must  swear  him  on  a  branch  of  the 
leppan." 

But  after  the  oath  it  was  the  same  - 
the  red  stone  was  in  the  police  Tha- 
kine's  body. 

24 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


"  I  think  it  is  the  truth,"  said  the 
Deputy  Commissioner. 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  priests;  "and 
the  police  Thakine  must  give  up  the 
Beda." 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  what  can  be  done 
in  the  matter,"  answered  the  Deputy 
Commissioner;  and  Hpo  Thit  was  re 
manded  to  await  developments. 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  the  surgeon,  when 
he  heard  about  it,  "that  accounts  for 
the  infernal  thing  taking  that  corkscrew 
course." 

"  You  '11  have  to  get  it  out  of  him 
some  way,"  said  the  Deputy  Commis 
sioner,  "  for  it  's  worth  about  two  lakhs 
of  rupees;  and,  besides,  it  won't  be 
healthy  for  Valentyne  to  live  in  Burmah 
with  the  eye  of  a  Buddhist  god  in  him." 

"  Look  here,  Grey,"  said  the  surgeon ; 
"  I  am  jiggered  if  I  probe  for  the  cursed 
thing  again.  I  nearly  let  Valentyne's 

25 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


life  out  of  him  the  other  day  for  fear  of 
poisonous  consequences,  for  I  thought 
it  was  a  slug.  But  if  it  's  a  good,  clear- 
cut  ruby  it  will  probably  never  hurt 
him,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  take  any 
chances." 

The  Deputy  Commissioner  was  in  de 
spair.  The  phoongyes,  headed  by  their 
archbishop,  haunted  his  office  and  his 
bungalow  night  and  day,  clamoring  for 
the  ruby,  for  their  sacred  Beda,  for  the 
eye  of  their  Buddhist  god. 

But  the  surgeon  was  obdurate. 

"Valentyne  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  he 
said,  "and  I  'm  not  going  to  murder 
him  to  please  any  yellow-robed  phoon- 
gye.  I  would  n't  do  it  even  if  he  were 
an  enemy.  I  'd  leave  the  service  first." 

Of  course  the  Deputy  Commissioner 
had  to  report  it  to  the  Commissioner, 
and  he  to  the  Chief  Commissioner. 

The  report  read :  "  That  the  sacred 
26 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


Beda,  the  famous  ruby,  had  been 
stolen  from  the  forehead  of  the  image 
of  Buddha  in  the  pagoda,  there,  by  a 
hill  man,  Hpo  Thit.  Hpo  Thit  had 
been  captured,  and  the  ruby  traced  to  the 
possession  of  the  superintendent  of  po 
lice,  Mr.  Valentyne.  That  it  appeared 
from  Hpo  Thit's  evidence  that  he  had 
fired  it  from  a  musket  into  the  superin 
tendent's  body ;  but  as  to  whether  Hpo 
Thit's  evidence  could  be  accepted,  and 
the  superintendent  held  to  be  in  inno 
cent  possession  of  the  stolen  goods  or 
not,  or  whether  he  should  be  arrested 
as  a  receiver  of  the  stolen  goods,  he  was 
not  prepared  to  say.  That  must  rest 
with  the  higher  authorities  to  decide. 
He  suggested  that  it  might  be  better 
to  refer  it  to  the  Judicial  Commissioner." 
Valentyne  in  the  meantime  had  to 
be  guarded  at  the  hospital,  for  Mi  Mra 
discovered  that  the  phoongyes  had  set 
27 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


a  scheme  on  foot  to  kidnap  him,  and, 
incidentally,  carve  him  up  to  find  the 
sacred  stone. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  they 
should  recover  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
Their  Buddha  had  lost  all  prestige  since 
his  maltreatment,  and  no  pilgrims  came 
now  to  lay  their  generous  offerings  at 
his  great  square  feet.  The  pagoda  had 
ceased  to  do  a  paying  business,  for  Uz- 
zana's  ruby  had  been  a  drawing  card. 
It  had  been  a  good  investment,  that  for 
twelve  centuries  had  gone  on  making 
money  for  the  priests. 

Valentyne  applied  for,  and  obtained, 
sick  leave,  handicapped  with  an  order 
that  he  must  not  take  the  ruby  out  of 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  Burmese  courts. 

It  was  a  splendid  bit  of  judicial  rul 
ing  that,  and  the  Deputy  Commissioner 
smiled  grimly  when  it  passed  through 
his  hands. 

28 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


The  surgeon  swore  like  a  trooper  when 
he  heard  about  it,  for  he  had  ordered 
Valentyne  off  to  Darjeeling  for  a  change. 
"  You  can't  stop  here,"  he  said,  "  be 
cause  if  you  don't  die  of  fever,  they  '11 
murder  you  sure.  By  Jove  !  Your  body 
will  be  worth  something  for  dissecting 
purposes,  though,  if  they  don't  get  the 
first  slash  at  you." 

But  Valentyne  steadily  improved. 
The  wound  was  healing  up  nicely,  the 
ruby  seemingly  giving  him  no  trouble 
whatever. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  sit  up  and 
move  about  he  discovered  a  new  source 
of  annoyance.  Devout  Burmans  were 
constantly  coming  and  prostrating  them 
selves  at  his  feet,  touching  their  fore 
heads  to  the  ground  and  muttering  their 
prayers. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  *?  "  he  asked 
Moung  Ouray. 

29 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


"Sar,  they  are  worshiping  the  Beda, 
which  you,  by  the  grace  of  the  god  and 
that  wicked  Hpo  Thit,  have  got." 

"  This  is  intolerable,"  thought  Valen- 
tyne.  "  I  am  a  ruby  mine,  and  a  Bur 
mese  god,  and  a  receiver  of  stolen 
goods,  all  in  one." 

As  he  got  better,  the  beauty  of  his 
new  life  was  further  enhanced  by  the 
deluge  of  official  correspondence  that 
commenced  to  pour  in  upon  him. 

By  order  of  the  Chief  Commissioner, 
he  was  asked  to  explain  how  he  meant 
to  make  good  to  the  pagoda  the  value 
of  the  ruby  he  was  still  retaining  on  his 
person.  It  was  cheerfully  pointed  out 
that  if  half  his  salary  was  escheated  for 
this  purpose  it  would  take  at  least  forty 
years  to  make  up  the  value  of  the  jewel. 

A  delay  of  this  sort  would  hardly  be 
fair  to  the  phoongyes;  besides,  in  that 
uncertain  climate,  his  salary  might  cease 

3° 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


at  any  moment.  At  any  rate,  under  the 
fifty-five  years'  service  rule,  he  could 
not  retain  his  position  in  the  service  for 
that  length  of  time,  and  his  pension 
would  be  barely  enough  to  live  upon. 

The  Civil  Surgeon  was  raked  over  the 
coals  for  not  acting  upon  the  Deputy 
Commissioner's  suggestion,  and  probing 
the  matter  to  the  bottom  as  it  were  - 
for  not  making  another  effort  to  recover 
the  jewel. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  wrote  in  answer 
that  the  superintendent's  life  would  have 
been  endangered  by  another  operation. 

His  answer  only  brought  another  liter 
ary  wigging,  in  which  he  was  curtly  re 
minded  that  the  British  government 
expected  its  officials  to  do  their  duty 
irrespective  of  personal  feeling  or  con 
siderations  of  personal  safety. 

"  Hang  them  for  a  lot  of  bloodthirsty 
swine,"  exclaimed  Corbyn,  for  that  was 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


the  surgeon's  name ;  "  they  mean  to 
have  that  ruby  out  of  Valentyne,  even 
if  it  costs  him  his  life." 

Then  the  phoongyes  got  up  a  mon 
strous  petition,  signed  by  all  the  Bud 
dhists,  living  and  dead,  in  the  whole  Bur- 
man  empire.  It  was  cleverly  worded, 
having  been  drawn  up  by  a  young  Bur- 
man  barrister  who  was  the  gold  medalist 
of  his  year  in  England. 

The  petition  was  to  be  forwarded  to 
the  Viceroy  through  the  Chief  Commis 
sioner,  and  prayed  that  the  superinten 
dent  of  police,  Valentyne,  should  be 
delivered  over  to  them,  that  they  might 
regain  the  most  sacred  relic  in  all  the 
Buddhist  empire. 

They  were  willing  to  pay  an  indem 
nity  to  his  family,  but  the  ruby  they 
must  have. 

For  a  time  it  looked  rather  blue  for 
Valentyne,  for  the  Viceroy  was  a  man 

32 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


who  had  great  ideas  about  the  rights  of 
the  natives :  in  fact,  he  went  in  for  it 
very  much  as  a  baboo  plays  lawn-tennis, 
without  much  science  in  the  game,  but 
with  his  whole  soul  and  ponderous  body 
dead  on  the  ball. 

The  papers  at  home  took  it  up ;  and 
a  nice  gentleman  one  evening  at  Exeter 
Hall  pointed  out  to  the  B.  P.  that  evi 
dently  it  was  another  case  of  oppression 
of  the  poor  native.  One  of  their  tem 
ples  had  been  desecrated ;  one  of  their 
most  sacred  idols  violated ;  a  jewel,  to 
which  theyattributed  miraculouspowers, 
stolen,  and  the  jewel  was  now  in  the 
possession  of  one  of  the  government 
superintendents  of  police. 

There  was  a  cock-and-bull  story,  he 
said,  about  it  having  been  shot  into  his 
body,  but  even  if  it  were  so,  they  could 
not  set  a  whole  nation  of  Buddhists  by 
the  ears  for  the  sake  of  one  man.  In 

33 


The  Eye  of  a  God 

common  honesty  they  must  give  the 
jewel  up ;  and  if  this  man  could  n't  part 
with  it,  why,  he  would  have  to  go  with 
it,  that  was  all. 

The  Viceroy  seemed  inclined  to  look 
at  it  in  this  light  too,  and  it  really 
seemed  awkward  for  Valentyne. 

In  the  meantime  a  civil  suit  to  re 
cover  the  value  of  the  ruby  had  been 
instituted  in  the  courts  in  general,  and 
Valentyne  in  particular. 

Luckily  for  Valentyne,  the  Secretary 
of  State  was  a  hard-headed  man,  not 
much  given  to  nonsense,  and  he  said  in 
equivalent  official  language  "  that  he  'd 
be  damned  if  he'd  see  an  innocent  Eng 
lishman  deliberately  cut  up  to  recover 
any  fetish  bauble." 

But  all  the  same  the  superintendent 

would  have  to  be  retired  on  half  pay, 

for  his  usefulness  was  gone.     The  two 

could  not  be  combined — the  dual  posi- 

34 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


tion  of  Burmese  god  and  superinten 
dent  of  police ;  for  the  natives  still  per 
sisted  in  reverencing  him,  though  ready, 
as  soon  as  the  word  was  given,  to  cut 
him  up. 

Just  when  he  thought  his  troubles 
were  at  an  end,  and  he  might  go  home, 
they  applied  for  an  injunction  to  prevent 
him  from  moving  the  ruby  out  of  Bur- 
mah.  They  showed  to  the  court,  on 
medical  authority,  that  there  was  every 
possibility  that  the  stone  might  work 
itself  out  some  day,  and  so  be  recov 
ered;  but  if  Valentyne  were  allowed 
to  leave  the  kingdom  the  chances  of 
the  rightful  owners  ever  becoming  pos 
sessed  of  it  were  very  slim  indeed. 

They  undertook  to  pay  Valentyne  a 
salary  of  ten  thousand  rupees  a  year 
so  long  as  he  remained  in  Rangoon ; 
and  all  they  asked  in  return  was  the 
privilege  of  coming  to  worship  the  Beda 

35 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


at  certain  periods,  and  that  a  medical 
officer,  appointed  by  them,  should  have 
free  access  to  Valentyne's  person,  with 
a  view  to  keeping  track  of  the  peram 
bulations  of  the  ruby:  and  that  when  it 
made  its  appearance  near  the  skin  any 
where,  so  that  it  might  be  extracted 
without  danger  to  him,  that  he  would 
relinquish  all  claim  upon  it,  and  allow 
the  surgeon  to  hasten  its  appearance. 

Valentyne's  counsel,  seeing  which  way 
the  wind  was  blowing,  agreed  to  accept 
this  ruling  of  the  court,  only  stipulating 
that  Corbyn  be  appointed  surgeon;  for 
the  nether  stone  had  suffered .  most  in 
the  grind,  and  Corbyn  was  out  of  the 
service. 

One  little  formality  the  court  de 
manded.  That  was  that  the  arch 
bishop,  and  three  or  four  of  the  chief 
phoongyes,  should  go  on  a  bond  for 
Valentyne's  personal  safety. 
36 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


So  the  superintendent  was  lodged  in 
a  beautifully  furnished  bungalow,  and 
was  treated  very  much  like  a  distin 
guished  state  prisoner. 

Life  went  very  pleasantly  with  him, 
and  it  did  not  seem  such  a  bad  affair 
after  all. 

Mi  Mra  was  living  in  Rangoon  too, 
as  it  happened ;  and  Hpo  Thit,  in  con 
sideration  of  his  turning  queen's  evi 
dence  against  himself  or  the  ruby,  was 
let  off  with  two  years  in  jail,  and  was 
then  busily  engaged  in  pushing  a  con 
servancy  cart  about  town,  with  a  clank 
ing  chain  running  from  his  waist  to 
either  ankle  by  way  of  ornament. 

The  Europeans  in  Rangoon,  with  Ori 
ental  playfulness,  bestowed  upon  Valen- 
tyne  two  or  three  names  expressive  of 
his  occupation.  He  was  known  down 
at  the  "  Gym  "  as  the  "  Burmese  God, 
Beda,"  and  the  "  Jewel  Merchant." 

37 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


The  fellows  were  never  tired  of  offer 
ing  him  as  security,  swearing  roundly 
that  he  was  worth  two  lakhs  of  rupees, 
dead  or  alive. 

One  or  two  playful  attempts  on  his 
life  relieved  the  monotony  of  his  exis 
tence;  but  as  these  laudable  efforts  were 
usually  frowned  down,  both  by  the 
phoongyes  and  the  officials,  and  as  one 
of  his  assailants  caught  a  cold  —  steel 
in  his  right  lung,  they  ceased  altogether 
after  a  time,  and  he  was  leading  a  com 
paratively  happy  life. 

He  almost  began  to  wish  that  the  ruby 
would  stay  where  it  was.  "  We  're  fixed 
for  life,"  he  said  to  Corbyn,  "  if  this 
Beda  ruby  does  n't  turn  up.  I  must  be 
more  careful  of  myself.  I  must  stop 
riding,  for  the  shaking  up  may  dislodge 
the  infernal  thing  and  start  it  working 
out." 

He  had  even  got  accustomed  to  see- 
38 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


ing  the  natives  plump  down  in  front  of 
him  and  fall  to  praying. 

Strangers  always  took  him  for  the 
Chief  Commissioner  when  they  saw  this 
sort  of  thing  going  on,  and  many  were 
the  mistakes  made  in  consequence. 

Once  he  received  an  offer  from  Bar- 
num  at  a  salary  which  made  his  paltry 
ten  thousand  look  like  pin-money.  The 
enterprising  American  guaranteed  to 
smuggle  him  out  of  Burmah  also,  and 
pay  all  legal  claims  too. 

After  he  had  been  in  the  business 
about  two  years  he  began  to  feel  a  pain 
in  his  back.  He  confided  his  fears  to 
his  attendant  physician.  "  It  's  work 
ing  out,  I  'm  sure,"  he  said  sorrowfully. 

And  so  it  appeared,  for  a  distinct 
lump  was  forming  just  below  the  shoul 
der  blade. 

The  phoongyes  were  notified,  and 
there  was  great  rejoicing  among  them. 

39 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


They  came  and  beat  tom-toms  all  night 
long  in  front  of  Valentyne's  bungalow. 
This  was  to  drive  the  nahts  away,  so  that 
they  would  not  steal  the  Beda  again. 

Valentyne  was  loaded  down  with 
presents,  and  feasted  like  a  bullock  for 
the  sacrifice. 

"  I  shall  be  a  rich  man,"  he  said  to 
Corbyn,  "  if  the  thing  holds  off  for  a 
time." 

But  the  incessant  drumming  and  song- 
prayer  making  about  his  bungalow  was 
driving  him  nearly  mad  for  want  of  sleep. 

Then  one  day  Corbyn  made  a  discov 
ery.  It  was  only  a  boil,  the  result  of 
mango-eating. 

The  phoongyes  were  in  despair. 

Just  about  that  time  Hpo  Thit 
walked  into  his  bungalow  one  day,  and, 
bumping  his  forehead  on  the  floor, 
begged  Valentyne's  forgiveness  for 
wounding  him.  He  had  served  his  time, 
40 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


and  was  going  away.  If  he  remained 
in  Burmah  they  would  kill  him  for 
stealing  the  Beda,  so  he  was  going  to 
some  other  country. 

And  that  was  the  last  anybody  ever 
saw  of  Hpo  Thit  in  Burmah. 

Three  years  more  of  playing  Buddha 
at  the  rate  of  ten  thousand  a  year 
passed,  and  this  time  there  could  be  no 
mistake  about  it,  so  Corbyn  said.  The 
ruby  was  coming  right  enough  this 
time.  It  was  coming  not  far  from  the 
place  where  the  boil  had  been ;  in  fact, 
it  was  the  irritation  of  the  Beda  that 
had  most  likely  caused  the  boil. 

It  was  the  same  old  thing  over  again, 
—  tom-toms,  and  poays,  and  presents, 
and  much  praying,  and  the  working  of 
charms  to  keep  the  nahts  away, —  only 
stronger  than  before,  for  they  were  sure 
of  it  this  time. 

Corbyn  could  take  his  fingers  and 
41 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


push  it  about  under  the  skin,  and  the 
grim,  butternut-colored  faces  of  the 
phoongyes  relaxed  when  they  realized 
how  close  they  were  to  getting  the 
heaven-sent  relic. 

Even  the  officials  were  pleased- 
pleased  with  Valentyne,  pleased  with 
themselves,  and  with  the  way  they  had 
managed  the  affair.  The  phoongyes 
would  have  their  ruby  back  again,  and 
Valentyne  would  have  done  well  out 
of  the  deal ;  in  fact,  he  might  be  rein 
stated  in  the  service,  if  this  spirit  of 
Buddha  were  cast  out  of  him. 

The  Chief  Commissioner  graciously 
extended  his  patronage  to  the  extract 
ing  of  the  stone. 

Apart  from  all  this  it  had  a  great  sur 
gical  interest.  All  the  medical  frater 
nity  in  Rangoon  asked  Valentyne's 
permission  to  be  present;  if  he  had 
chosen  to  charge  an  admission  of  ten 
42 


The  Eye  of  a  God 


rupees  a  head  he  might  have  had  his 
compound  filled  at  that  price  the  day 
Corbyn  summoned  the  phoongyes  to  be 
present  to  take  delivery  of  the  ruby. 

Everything  was  in  readiness.  The 
archbishop  had  brought  a  sacred  dish 
that  was  supposed  to  have  at  one  time 
belonged  to  Buddha  Gautama,  to  re 
ceive  the  Beda  in. 

Valentyne's  back  was  bared ;  Corbyn 
made  an  incision  with  his  scalpel, 
pressed  gently  with  the  forefinger  of  his 
right  hand  downward,  and  in  a  second 
it  lay  in  his  left  hand. 

He  gave  it  a  little  rinse  in  a  bowl  of 
warm  water  he  had  ready,  and  held  it 
up  to  the  expectant  gaze  of  the  many 
craning  heads. 

It  was  a  piece  of  oblong  lead — a  slug. 

Hpo  Thit  had  lied,  that  was  all,  and 
had  the  ruby  away  with  him — at  least, 
it  was  never  found. 
43 


"KING  FOR  A  DAY" 


'KING  FOR  A   DAY' 

As  you  walk  up  the  many  score  of 
steps  leading  to  the  Golden  Pagoda  in 
Rangoon,  and  come  out  upon  the  ce 
mented  flat  in  front  of  the  tapering  spire 
itself,  you  will  see  a  Burmese  temple  a 
little  to  the  right.  Among  other  gods 
rested  there  once  a  small  alabaster  figure 
of  Buddha,  stained  yellow,  and  with  a 
hideous  dragon  head  ;  but  it  is  not  there 
now.  And  because  of  that  alabaster  god, 
these  things  happened. 

Sir  Lemuel  Jones,  C.  I.  E.,  was  Chief 
Commissioner  of  Burmah.  Lawrence 
Jones,  captain  of  the  tramp  steamer 
Newcastle  Maid,  was  his  brother.  More 

47 


King  for  a  Day" 


than  that,  they  were  twins,  as  like  as 
two  drops  of  water.  It  was  kismet 
that  Sir  Lemuel  should  rise  to  be  Chief 
Commissioner,  while  it  was  Larry's  own 
fault  that  he  was  only  captain  of  a 
freighter.  But  they  both  enjoyed  them 
selves,  each  after  his  kind. 

One  morning  in  November  the  New 
castle  Maid  glided  up  the  Irawadi  and 
swung  to  moorings  just  off  the  main 
wharf  at  Rangoon.  Larry  had  not  seen 
his  brother  for  years;  and,  for  the  mat 
ter  of  that,  did  not  care  if  many  more 
years  passed  before  he  saw  him.  Their 
paths  ran  at  right  angles.  He  was  there 
for  a  cargo  of  rice,  not  to  renew  family 
ties. 

It  was  because  the  chief  engineer  of 
the  Newcastle  Maid  was  a  man  after 
his  own  heart  that  he  said,  before  going 
ashore:  "I  don't  want  to  get  into  a  gale 
here,  for  I  've  had  a  letter  from  the  own- 
48 


* '  King  for  a  Day 

ers  over  that  last  break  I  made  in  Cal 
cutta  ;  if  I  come  off  seas  over,  just  lock 
me  in  the  cabin,  and  don't  let  me  out. 
No  matter  what  I  say,  keep  me  there 
until  I  'm  braced  up." 

Then  the  captain  went  ashore.  "  I 
want  to  see  the  Golden  Pagoda,"  said 
he,  as  he  chartered  a  gharry. 

"  Come  quickly,  I  'm  waiting,"  whis 
pered  the  yellow  image  of  Buddha,  the 
alabaster  god,  in  his  ear.  It  was  there, 
in  the  funny  little  temple  all  decked  out 
with  Chinese  lanterns,  and  tinsel,  and 
grotesque  gods.  Straight  the  influence 
led  him  to  it  —  to  the  dragon-headed 
god. 

Stealing  was  not  one  of  Larry's  vices, 
but  what  matter  man's  ways  when  the 
gods  are  running  his  life  for  him  *?  It 
scorched  his  fingers  when  he  touched  it; 
and  when  it  was  in  his  pocket  it  scorched 
his  mind.  The  demon  of  impulse  took 

49 


King  for  a  Day" 


possession  of  the  captain.  "  I  must  do 
something,"  and  he  thought  of  the  usual 
routine  —  whisky.  It  held  out  no  pleas 
ing  prospect.  "  Something  else,  some 
thing  else ;  something  worthy  of  Captain 
Jones,"  whispered  the  little  god. 

He  took  a  drive  out  through  the 
cantonments.  As  he  bowled  along  in 
the  old  gharry  a  new  experience  came 
to  him.  Gentlemen  lifted  their  hats ; 
and  ladies  driving  in  their  carriages 
smiled  and  bowed  in  the  most  gracious 
manner. 

"I  wonder  if  there  's  anything  sticking 
to  my  face,"  thought  Larry,  and  he 
passed  his  hand  carefully  over  its  rounded 
surface  ;  it  seemed  all  right. 

But  still  they  kept  it  up — everybody 
he  met,  and  one  officer,  galloping  by 
on  his  pony,  took  a  pull  at  the  animal's 
head  and  shouted,  "Are  you  coming  to 
the  club  to-night,  sir4?" 

5° 


King  for  a  Day" 


"  No  !  "  roared  the  captain  ;  for  he 
had  n't  the  faintest  idea  of  going  to  a 
club  without  an  invitation. 

"  They  '11  be  awfully  disappointed," 
came  the  echo  of  the  officer's  voice  as 
the  gharry  opened  up  a  gap  between 
them. 

"  Very  kind,"  muttered  Larry ;  "  but 
I  fancy  they  '11  get  over  it.  Must  have 
taken  me  for  somebody  else." 

And  the  dragon  grin  on  the  face  of 
the  alabaster  god  in  his  pocket  spread 
out  until  it  was  hideous  to  look  upon. 
Larry  did  n't  see  this;  he  was  busy  star 
ing  open-mouthed  at  the  image  of  him 
self  sitting  in  a  carriage  just  in  front. 
The  carriage  was  turning  out  of  a  com 
pound,  and  blocked  the  road,  so  that 
his  own  driver  was  forced  to  stop.  He 
recognized  the  other  man.  It  was  Sir 
Lemuel,  his  twin  brother. 

The  recognition  was  mutual.      The 

5' 


King  for  a  Day" 


Commissioner  bowed  quite  coldly  as  the 
captain  called  out,  "  How  are  you, 
Lemuel?" 

Then  the  big  Waler  horses  whipped 
the  carriage  down  the  road  at  a  slashing 
gait,  and  Larry  was  left  alone  with  The 
Thing  in  his  pocket. 

"  So  that  's  why  they  've  been  taking 
off  their  hats  to  me,"  he  mused.  "They 
take  me  for  Sir  Lemuel.  Great  time  he 
must  have  ruling  these  yellow  niggers 
out  here.  I  'd  like  to  be  in  his  shoes 
just  for  a  day,  to  see  how  it  feels  to  be 
King  of  Burmah." 

All  the  way  back  to  the  hotel  he  was 
thinking  about  it.  Arrived  there,  he 
wrote  a  note  addressed  to  the  Chief 
Commissioner,  and  sent  it  off  by  a  na 
tive.  "  That  will  bring  him,"  he  mut 
tered  ;  "  he  always  was  a  bit  afraid  of 
me." 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  Sir  Lemuel 

52 


King  for  a  Day" 


arrived  in  his  carriage.  There  was  a 
great  scurrying  about  of  servants,  and 
no  end  of  salaaming  the  "  Lat  Sahib  " ; 
for  it  was  not  often  the  Chief  Commis 
sioner  honored  the  hotel  with  his  pres 
ence.  He  was  shown  to  Captain  Jones's 
room. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Lem,"  said  Captain 
Larry,  cheerfully.  "  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  and  thought  you  'd  rather  come 
here  than  receive  me  at  Government 
House." 

"Please  be  brief,  then,"  said  Sir  Lem 
uel,  in  his  most  dignified  manner ;  "  I 
have  to  attend  a  dinner  at  the  club  to 
night  in  honor  of  the  return  of  our 
Judicial  Commissioner." 

"Oh,  Sir  Lemuel  will  be  there  in 
time  for  that,"  chuckled  the  captain. 
"But  first,  Lem,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times,  I  want  you  to  drink  a  glass  of 
wine  with  me.  You  know  we  took  a 
53 


King  for  a  Day" 


drink  together  pretty  often  the  first  year 
of  our  existence."  Then  he  broke  into 
a  loud  sailor  laugh  that  irritated  the 
Commissioner. 

"  While  I  don't  approve  of  drinking 
to  the  extent  you  have  carried  it,"  said 
Sir  Lemuel,  with  judicial  severity,  "still 
I  can't  refuse  a  glass  proffered  by  my 
brother." 

"Your  twin  brother,"  broke  in  Larry; 
"of  whom  you  've  always  been  so  fond, 
you  know." 

"  I  really  must  be  going,  so  please 
tell  me  why  you  've  sent  for  me."  But 
when  he  had  drunk  the  glass  of  wine, 
he  gave  up  all  idea  of  going  anywhere 
but  to  sleep  —  for  it  was  drugged. 

Then  Captain  Larry  stripped  his  bro 
ther,  peeled  the  august  body  of  the 
Commissioner  as  one  would  strip  a  wil 
low,  and  draped  him  in  his  own  sailor 
outfit.  "  You  're  a  groggy-looking  cap- 
54 


King  for  a  Day" 


tain,"  he  said,  as  he  tried  to  brace  the 
figure  up  in  a  big  chair;  "you  're  a  dis 
grace  to  the  service.  You  '11  have  your 
papers  taken  away,  first  thing  you 
know." 

He  had  put  the  alabaster  god  on  the 
table  while  he  was  making  the  transfer. 

"This  is  all  your  doing,"  he  said,  ad 
dressing  the  figure. 

When  he  had  arrayed  himself  in  the 
purple  and  fine  linen  of  the  Commis 
sioner,  he  emptied  the  contents  of  the 
bottle  of  wine  through  the  window. 
Then  he  went  below  and  spoke  to  the 
proprietor.  "  The  captain  up-stairs, 
who  had  an  important  communication 
to  make  to  me,  has  become  suddenly 
most  completely  intoxicated.  Never 
saw  a  man  get  drunk  so  quick  in  my 
life.  Can  you  have  him  sent  off  to  his 
ship,  so  that  he  won't  get  in  disgrace? 
It  's  my  express  wish  that  this  should 

55 


King  for  a  Day" 


be  done,  as  he  has  been  of  service  to 
me." 

"All  right,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  hotel- 
keeper,  touching  his  forehead  with  his 
forefinger  in  salute,  "  I  will  get  Captain 
Davin,  who  is  a  great  friend  of  his,  to 
take  him  off  right  away." 

"Most  considerate  man,  the  Chief 
Commissioner,"  remarked  the  boniface, 
as  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

The  carriage  swung  in  under  a  shed- 
like  portico  at  the  front  of  a  big  strag 
gling  bungalow.  The  driver  pulled  up 
his  horses;  the  two  yaktail-bearing  foot 
men,  who  had  jumped  down  from  their 
places  behind  as  the  carnage  turned  in 
off  the  road,  ran  hastily  up,  opening  the 
door,  and  lowering  the  steps  for  The 
Presence,  the  Lat  Sahib,  the  Father  of 
all  Burmans.  Only,  Father  and  all  as 
he  was,  none  of  his  children  served  in 
56 


King  for  a  Day" 


the  house,  the  captain  noticed.     All  the 
servants  were  from  India. 

"Hallo!  there  's  the  ship's  log,"  ex 
claimed  the  captain,  looking  at  the  big 
visitors'  book  in  the  entrance.  "  Won 
der  where  I  've  got  to  sign  that.  The 
ship  musters  a  big  crew,"  as  he  ran  his 
eye  down  the  long  list  of  names. 

"  When  does  The  Presence  want  the 
carriage  ?  "  asked  a  ponderous,  much- 
liveried  native  servant,  making  a  deep 
salaam. 

The  captain  pulled  out  his  watch  - 
Sir  Lemuel's  watch.  "  It  's  a  beauty," 
he  mused,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  its  rich 
yellow  sides.  "  Right  away,  mate  —  I 
mean  bos'n  —  that  is,  tell  him  not  to 
go  away.  Wonder  what  that  fellow's 
proper  title  is  on  the  muster*?" 

"Ah,  you  're  to  dine  at  the  club  to 
night,  Sir  Lemuel,"  a  cheery  English 

57 


King  for  a  Day" 


voice  said,  as  a  young  man  came  out  of 
a  room  on  the  right. 

"I  know  that,"  angrily  answered 
Larry.  "  I  don't  have  to  be  told  my 
business." 

"  Certainly,  Sir  Lemuel ;  but  you 
asked  me  to  jog  your  memory,  as 
you  are  so  apt  to  forget  these  things, 
you  know." 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right,"  answered 
the  captain.  "  If  you  catch  me  forget 
ting  anything  else,  just  hold  out  a  signal 
—  that  is,  tip  me  the  wink,  will  you  *?  " 

"  We  've  had  a  telegram  from  Lady 
Jones,  Sir  Lemuel - 

The  cold  perspiration  stood  out  on 
the  captain's  forehead.  This  was  some 
thing  he  had  forgotten  all  about.  A 
bachelor  himself,  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  Sir  Lemuel  was  probably 
married  and  that  he  would  have  to  face 
the  wife. 

58 


King  for  a  Day" 


"  Where  is  she  ?  When  is  she  com 
ing  back  *?  "  he  gasped. 

"Oh,  Sir  Lemuel,  it  was  only  to  say 
that  she  had  arrived  safely  in  Prome." 

"  Thank  God  for  that !  "  exclaimed 
the  captain,  with  a  rare  burst  of  rever 
ence. 

The  private  secretary  looked  rather 
astonished.  Sir  Lemuel  had  always  been 
a  very  devoted  husband,  but  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  give  way  to  an  expression  of 
strong  feeling  simply  because  his  wife 
had  arrived  at  the  end  of  her  journey. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  remember  what 
she  said  about  coming  back  ?  "  he  asked 
of  the  wondering  secretary. 

"No,  Sir  Lemuel;  but  she  '11  prob 
ably  remain  till  her  sister  is  out  of  dan 
ger  —  a  couple  of  weeks,  perhaps." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  cap 
tain.  "  Thank  the  Lord  !  —  I  mean  I  'm 
so  glad  that  she  's  had  a  safe  voyage," 

59 


King  for  a  Day" 


he  corrected  himself,  heaving  a  great 
sigh  of  relief.  "  That  's  one  rock  out 
of  the  channel,"  he  muttered. 

A  bearer  was  waiting  patiently  for 
him  to  go  and  change  his  dress.  The 
captain  whistled  softly  to  himself  when 
he  saw  the  dress-suit  all  laid  out  and 
everything  in  perfect  order  for  a  "quick 
change,"  as  he  called  it.  As  he  finished 
dressing,  the  "  bos'n,"  he  of  the  gorgeous 
livery,  appeared,  announcing,  "  Johnson 
Sahib,  sir." 

"  Who '?  "  queried  Captain  Larry. 

"  Sec'tary  Sahib,  sir." 

"  Oh,  that  's  my  private  secretary," 
he  thought. 

"I  've  brought  the  speech,  Sir  Lem 
uel,"  said  the  young  man,  as  he  entered. 
"  You  '11  hardly  have  time  to  go  through 
it  before  we  start." 

The  captain  slipped  the  speech  and  the 
little  alabaster  god  into  his  pocket,  and 
60 


King  for  a  Day" 


they  were  soon  bowling  along  to  the 
official  dinner.  "  Look  here,  Johnson," 
he  said,  "  I  think  fever  or  something  's 
working  on  me.  I  can't  remember 
men's  faces,  and  get  their  names  all 
mixed  up.  I  would  n't  go  to  this  din 
ner  to-night  if  I  had  n't  promised  to.  I 
ought  to  stay  aboard  the  ship  —  I  mean 
I  ought  to  stay  at  home.  Now  I  want 
you  to  help  me  through,  and  if  it  goes 
off  all  right,  I  '11  double  your  salary 
next  month.  Safe  to  promise  that,"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "  Let  Lem  attend 
to  it." 

At  the  club,  as  the  captain  entered, 
the  band  struck  up  "God  save  the 
Queen." 

"By  jingo,  we  're  late!"  he  said; 
"  the  show  is  over." 

"  He  has  got  fever  or  sun,  sure," 
thought  his  companion.  "  Oh,  no,  Sir 
Lemuel ;  they  're  waiting  for  you,  to  sit 
61 


King  for  a  Day" 


down  to  dinner.  There  's  Mr.  Barnes, 
the  Judicial  Commissioner,  talking  to 
Colonel  Short,  sir,"  added  the  secretary, 
pointing  to  a  tall,  clerical-looking  gen 
tleman.  "  He  's  looking  very  much  cut 
up  over  the  loss  of  his  wife." 

"  Wife  dead,  must  remember  that," 
thought  Larry. 

Just  then  the  Judicial  Commissioner 
caught  sight  of  the  captain,  and  hastened 
forward  to  greet  him.  "  How  do  you  do, 
dear  Sir  Lemuel?  I  called  this  after 
noon.  So  sorry  to  find  that  Lady  Jones 
was  away.  You  must  find  it  very  lonely, 
Sir  Lemuel;  I  understand  this  is  the  first 
time  you  have  been  separated  during 
the  many  years  of  your  married  life." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  miss  the  little  woman. 
That  great  barracks  is  not  the  same 
without  her  sweet  little  face  about." 

"That  's  a  pretty  tall  order,"  ejacu 
lated  a  young  officer  to  a  friend.  And 
62 


King  for  a  Day 


it  was,  considering  that  Lady  Jones  was 
an  Amazonian  type  of  woman,  five  feet 
ten,  much  given  to  running  the  whole 
state,  and  known  as  the  "  Ironclad." 
But  Larry  did  n't  know  that,  and  had  to 
say  something. 

"Dear  Lady  Jones,"  sighed  the  Judi 
cial  Commissioner,  pathetically.  "  I  sup 
pose  she  returns  almost  immediately." 

"The  Lord  forbid  —  at  least  not  for 
a  few  days.  I  want  her  to  enjoy  herself 
while  she  's  away.  You  will  feel  the 
loss  of  your  wife,  Mr.  Barnes,  even 
more  than  I ;  for,  of  course,  she  will 
never  come  back  to  you." 

To  say  that  general  consternation  fol 
lowed  this  venture  of  the  captain's  is 
drawing  it  very  mild  indeed,  for  the 
J.  C.'s  wife  was  not  dead  at  all,  but  had 
wandered  far  away  with  a  lieutenant  in 
a  Madras  regiment. 

"  It  's   the   Ironclad  put  him   up  to 

63 


King  for  a  Day" 


that.  She  was  always  down  on  the  J.  C. 
for  marrying  a  girl  half  his  age,"  said 
an  assistant  Deputy  Commissioner  to  a 
man  standing  beside  him. 

The  secretary  was  tugging  energeti 
cally  at  the  captain's  coat-tails.  "  What 
is  it,  Johnson  *? "  he  asked,  suddenly 
realizing  the  tug. 

"Dinner  is  on,  sir." 

"Rare  streak  of  humor  the  chief 
is  developing,"  said  Captain  Lushton, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Fancy  he  's  rubbing 
it  into  Barnes  on  account  of  that  appeal 
case." 

Owing  to  the  indisposition  of  the 
Chief  Commissioner,  by  special  arrange 
ment  the  secretary  sat  at  his  left,  which 
was  rather  fortunate ;  for,  by  the  time 
dinner  was  over,  the  captain  had  looked 
upon  the  wine  and  seen  that  it  was  good 
—  had  looked  several  times.  What 
with  the  worry  of  keeping  his  glass 
64 


King  for  a  Day" 


empty,  and  answering,  with  more  or  less 
relevance,  respectful  questions  addressed 
to  him  from  different  parts  of  the  table, 
he  pretty  well  forgot  all  about  the  speech 
lying  in  his  lap.  Once  or  twice  he 
looked  at  it,  but  the  approaches  to  the 
facts  were  so  ambiguous,  and  veiled  so 
carefully  under  such  expressions  as,  "  It 
is  deemed  expedient  under  existing  cir 
cumstances,"  etc.,  that  he  got  very  little 
good  from  it.  One  or  two  facts  he 
gleaned,  however :  that  owing  to  the 
extraordinary  exertion  of  the  Judicial 
Commissioner  all  the  dacoits  had  either 
been  hung,  transported  to  the  Anda- 
mans,  or  turned  from  their  evil  course 
and  made  into  peaceable  tillers  of  the 
soil;  their  two-handed  dah  had  been 
dubbed  up,  more  or  less,  into  a  plow 
share. 

"  Glad  of  that,"  thought  the  captain. 
"  Hate  those  beastly  dacoits.     They  're 

65 


King  for  a  Day 


like  mutineers  on  shipboard.   The  padre- 
like  lawyer  must  be  a  good  one." 

Another  point  that  loomed  up  on  his 
sailor  vision  like  the  gleam  of  a  light 
house  was  a  reference  to  a  petition  call 
ing  attention  to  the  prevalence  of  crime 
connected  with  sailors  during  the  ship 
ping  season,  and  asking  for  the  estab 
lishment  of  a  separate  police  court,  with 
a  special  magistrate,  to  try  these  cases. 

"  Shall  we  have  the  honor  of  your 
presence  at  the  races  to-morrow  ?  "  pleas 
antly  asked  a  small,  withy  man,  four 
seats  down  the  table. 

The  captain  was  caught  unawares, 
and  blurted  out,  "  Where  are  they  *?  " 

"  On  the  race-course,  sir." 

The  answer  was  a  simple,  straightfor 
ward  one,  but  nevertheless  it  made 
everybody  laugh. 

"  I  thought  they  were  on  the  moon," 
said  the  captain,  in  a  nettled  tone. 
66 


King  for  a  Day" 


A  man  does  n't  laugh  at  a  Chief 
Commissioner's  joke,  as  a  rule,  because 
it  's  funny,  but  the  mirth  that  followed 
this  was  genuine  enough. 

"Sir  Lemuel  is  coming  out,"  said 
Captain  Lushton.  "  Pity  the  Ironclad 
would  n't  go  away  every  week." 

In  the  natural  order  of  things,  Sir 
Lemuel  had  to  respond  to  the  toast  of 
"  The  Queen."  Now  the  secretary  had 
very  carefully  and  elaborately  prepared 
the  Chief  Commissioner's  speech  for  this 
occasion :  Sir  Lemuel  had  conscien 
tiously  "  mugged  "  it  up,  and  if  he  had 
not  at  that  moment  been  a  prisoner  on 
board  the  Newcastle  Maid  would  have 
delivered  it  with  a  pompous  sincerity 
which  would  have  added  to  his  laurels 
as  a  deep  thinker  and  brilliant  speaker. 
But  the  captain  of  a  tramp  steamer,  with 
a  mixed  cargo  of  sherry,  hock,  and  dry 
monopole  in  his  stomach,  and  a  mis- 

67 


King  for  a  Day ' ' 


chief-working  alabaster  god  in  his  pocket, 
is  not  exactly  the  proper  person  to  de 
liver  a  statistical,  semi-official  after-din 
ner  speech. 

When  the  captain  rose  to  his  feet,  the 
secretary  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  For 
heaven's  sake,  don't  say  anything  about 
the  Judicial's  wife.  Talk  about dacoits" ; 
but  the  speech,  so  beautifully  written,  so 
lucid  in  its  meaning,  and  so  complicated 
in  its  detail,  became  a  waving  sea  of  foam. 
From  out  the  billowy  waste  of  this  in 
definite  mass  there  loomed  only  the  tall 
figure  of  the  cadaverous  J.  C. ;  and  at 
tached  to  it,  as  a  tangible  something, 
the  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  wife  and 
settled  the  dacoits. 

It  was  glorious,  this  getting  up  be 
fore  two  strings  of  more  or  less  bald- 
headed  officials  to  tell  them  how  the 
state  ought  to  be  run  —  the  ship  steered, 
as  it  were.  "Gentlemen,"  he  began, 
68 


King  for  a  Day" 


starting  off  bravely  enough,  "  we  are 
pleased  to  have  among  us  once  more 
our  fellow-skipper,  the  Judicial  Com 
missioner." 

"  The  old  buck  's  got  a  rare  streak 
of  humor  on  to-night,"  whispered  Lush- 
ton. 

"  His  jovial  face  adds  to  the  harmony 
of  the  occasion.  I  will  not  allude  to 
his  late  loss,  as  we  all  know  how  deeply 
he  feels  it." 

"  Gad !  but  he  's  rubbing  it  in,"  said 
Lushton. 

"  I  repeat,  we  are  glad  to  have  him 
among  us  once  again.  My  secretary 
assures  me  that  there  's  not  a  single  da- 
coit  left  alive  in  the  province.  There  's 
nothing  like  putting  these  rebellious 
chaps  down.  I  had  a  mutiny  myself 
once,  on  board  the  Kangaroo.  I  shot 
the  ringleaders,  and  made  every  mo 
ther's  son  of  the  rest  of  them  walk  the 
69 


King  for  a  Day" 


plank.  So  I  'm  proud  of  the  good  work 
the  Judicial  has  done  in  this  respect." 

Now,  it  had  been  a  source  of  irritat 
ing  regret  to  every  Deputy  Commis 
sioner  in  the  service  that  when  he  had 
caught  a  dacoit  red-handed,  convicted, 
and  sentenced  him  to  be  hanged,  and 
sent  the  ruling  up  to  the  Judicial  for 
confirmation,  he  had  been  promptly  sat 
on  officially,  and  the  prisoner  either  par 
doned  or  let  off  with  a  light  sentence. 
Consequently  these  little  pleasantries  of 
the  captain  were  looked  upon  as  satire. 

"  There  is  one  other  little  matter  I 
wish  to  speak  about,"  continued  the 
captain,  in  the  most  natural  manner 
possible,  "and  that  is,  the  prevalence 
of  what  we  might  call  '  sailor  crimes  ' 
in  Rangoon."  He  told  in  the  most 
graphic  manner  of  the  importance  of 
the  shipping  interests,  for  he  was  right 
at  home  on  that  subject,  and  wound  up 
70 


King  for  a  Day" 


by  saying :  "  I  've  been  presented  with 
a  largely  signed  petition  praying  for  the 
establishment  of  another  assistant  mag 
istrate's  court  to  try  these  cases,  presided 
over  by  a  man  more  or  less  familiar 
with  the  shipping  interests.  Now, 
that  's  the  only  sensible  thing  I  ever 
heard  talked  of  in  this  heathen  land. 
Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  I  say.  Put 
the  ship  in  charge  of  a  sailor  himself— 
of  a  captain.  None  of  your  land 
lubbers." 

His  theme  was  carrying  him  away; 
he  was  on  deck  again.  But  the  others 
thought  it  was  only  his  humor;  the 
strange,  unaccountable  humor  that  had 
taken  possession  of  him  since  the  Iron 
clad  had  let  go  her  hold. 

"  Now,    I  know   of  a  most  worthy 

captain,"  he  continued,  "  who  would  fill 

this  billet  with  honor   to  himself  and 

profit  to   the    Judicial.     His  name    is 

71 


King  for  a  Day" 


Captain  Jones  —  a  namesake  of  my  own, 
I  may  say  —  of  the  Newcastle  Maid, 
2000  tons  register.  I  've  known  him 
ever  since  he  was  a  babe,  and  the  sail 
ors  won't  fool  him,  I  can  tell  you.  I  'd 
a  talk  with  him  this  evening  down  at 
the  hotel,  and  he  's  just  the  man  for  the 
job.  I  'd  sign  the  papers  appointing 
him  to-morrow  if  they  were  put  before 
me.  He  ought  to  have  a  good  salary, 
though,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down,  rather 
abruptly,  some  of  them  thought. 

The  secretary  sighed  as  he  shoved  in 
his  pocket  the  written  speech,  which 
the  captain  had  allowed  to  slip  to  the 
floor.  "  It  '11  do  for  another  time,  I 
suppose,"  he  said  wearily;  "when  he 
gets  over  this  infernal  touch  of  sun  or 
Burmah  head." 

People  in  India  get  used  to  that  sort 
of  thing  happening  —  of  their  older 
officials  saying  startling  things  some- 
72 


King  for  a  Day" 


times.  That  's  what  the  fifty-five  years' 
service  is  for  —  to  prevent  it.  The 
other  speeches  did  not  appeal  to  Cap 
tain  Larry  much ;  nor,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  to  the  others  either.  He  had 
certainly  made  the  hit  of  the  evening. 

"  It  's  great,  this,"  he  said  bucolically 
to  the  secretary,  as  they  drove  home. 

"What,  sir?" 

"  Why,  making  speeches,  and  driving 
home  in  your  own  carriage.  I  hate  go 
ing  aboard  ship  in  a  jiggledy  sampan  at 
night.  I  '11  have  a  string  of  wharves 
put  all  along  the  front  there,  so  that 
ships  won't  have  to  load  at  their  moor 
ings.  Just  put  me  in  mind  of  that  to 
morrow." 

Next  day  there  was  considerable  di 
version  on  the  Newcastle  Maid.     "  The 
old  man  's  got  the  D.  T.'s,"  the  chief 
engineer    told    the    first    officer.       "  I 
73 


King  for  a  Day" 


locked  him  in  his  cabin  last  night  when 
they  brought  him  off,  and  he  's  banging 
things  around  there  in  great  shape. 
Swears  he  's  the  ruler  of  Burmah  and  Sir 
Gimnel  Somebody.  I  won't  let  him 
out  till  he  gets  all  right  again,  for  he  'd 
go  up  to  the  agents  with  this  cock-and- 
bull  story.  They  'd  cable  home  to  the 
owners,  and  he  'd  be  taken  out  of  the 
ship  sure." 

That  's  why  Sir  Lemuel  tarried  for  a 
day  on  the  Newcastle  Maid.  Nobody 
would  go  near  him  but  the  chief  engi 
neer,  who  handed  him  meat  and  drink 
through  a  port-hole,  and  laughed  sooth 
ingly  at  his  fancy  tales. 

After  chota  hazri  next  morning,  the 
secretary  brought  to  Captain  Larry  a 
large  basket  of  official  papers  for  his 
perusal  and  signature.  That  was  Sir 
Lemuel's  time  for  work.  His  motto 
74 


King  for  a  Day" 


was,  business  first,  and  afterward  more 
business.  Each  paper  was  carefully 
contained  in  a  card-board  holder  se 
cured  by  red  tape. 

"  The  log,  eh,  mate  ?  "  said  Larry, 
when  the  secretary  brought  them  into 
his  room.  "  It  looks  ship-shape,  too." 

"  This  file,  sir,  is  the  case  of  Deputy 
Commissioner  Grant,  1st  Grade,  of  Bun- 
galoo.  He  has  memorialized  the  gov 
ernment  that  Coatsworth,  2d  Grade, 
has  been  appointed  over  his  head  to  the 
commissionership  of  Bhang.  He  's  sen 
ior  to  Coatsworth,  you  know,  sir,  in 
the  service." 

"  Well,  why  has  Coatsworth  been 
made  first  mate  then  *? " 

"  Grant  's  afraid  it  's  because  he  of 
fended  you,  sir,  when  you  went  to 
Bungaloo.  He  received  you  in  a  jah- 
ran  coat,  you  remember,  and  you  were 
awfully  angry  about  it." 
75 


King  for  a  Day" 


"  Oh,  I  was,  was  I  ?  Just  shows 
what  an  ass  Sir  Lemuel  can  be  some 
times.  Make  Grant  a  commissioner  at 
once,  and  I  '11  sign  the  papers." 

"  But  there  's  no  commissionership 
open,  sir,  unless  you  set  back  Coats- 
worth." 

"  Well,  I  '11  set  him  back.  I  '11  dis 
charge  him  from  the  service.  What 
else  have  you  got  there1?  What  's 
that  bundle  on  the  deck  *?  " 

"They  're  native  petitions,  sir." 

Larry  took  up  one.  It  began  with 
an  Oriental  profusion  of  gracious  titles 
bestowed  upon  the  Commissioner,  and 
went  into  business  by  stating  that  the 
writer  Baboo  Sen's  wife  had  got  two 
children  by  "  the  grace  of  God  and  the 
kind  favor  of  Sir  Lemuel  the  Father  of 
all  Burmans."  And  the  long  petition 
was  all  to  the  end  that  Baboo  Sen  might 
have  a  month's  leave  of  absence. 
76 


King  for  a  Day" 


Larry  chuckled,  for  he  did  not  un 
derstand  the  complex  nature  of  a 
Baboo's  English.  The  next  petition 
gave  him  much  food  for  thought;  it 
made  his  head  ache.  The  English  was 
like  logarithms.  "  Here,"  he  said  to  the 
secretary;  "you  fix  these  petitions  up 
later;  I  'm  not  used  to  them." 

He  straightened  out  the  rest  of  the 
official  business  in  short  order.  Judg 
ments  that  would  have  taken  the  wind 
out  of  Solomon's  sails,  he  delivered 
with  a  rapidity  that  made  the  secre 
tary's  head  swim.  They  were  not  all 
according  to  the  code,  and  would  prob 
ably  not  stand  if  sent  up  to  the  privy 
council.  At  any  rate,  they  would  give 
Sir  Lemuel  much  patient  undoing  when 
he  came  into  his  own  again.  The  sec 
retary  unlocked  the  official  seal,  and 
worked  it,  while  the  captain  limited  his 
signature  to  "  L.  Jones." 
77 


King  for  a  Day" 


"  That  's  not  forgery,"  he  mused ;  "  it 
means  '  Larry  Jones.' " 

"  The  Chief's  hand  is  pretty  shaky 
this  morning,"  thought  the  secretary; 
for  the  signature  was  not  much  like  the 
careful  clerkly  hand  that  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  see. 

Sir  Lemuel's  wine  had  been  a  stand 
ing  reproach  to  Government  House.  A 
dinner  there  either  turned  a  man  into  a 
teetotaler  or  a  dyspeptic ;  and  at  tiffin, 
when  the  captain  broached  a  bottle  of 
it,  he  set  his  glass  down  with  a  roar. 
"  He  's  brought  me  the  vinegar,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "or  the  coal-oil.  Is  there  no 
better  wine  in  the  house  than  this  *?  "  he 
asked  the  butler;  and  when  told  there 
was  n't,  he  insisted  upon  the  secretary 
writing  out  an  order  at  once  for  fifty 
dozen  Pommery.  "  Have  it  back  in 
time  for  dinner,  sure  !  I  '11  leave 
some  for  Lem,  too;  this  stuff  is  n't 
78 


King  for  a  Day" 


good  for  his  blood,"  he  said  to  him 
self  grimly. 

"  I  'm  glad  this  race  meet  is  on  while 
I  'm  king,"  he  thought,  as  he  drove 
down  after  tiffin,  taking  his  secretary 
with  him.  "  They  say  the  Prince  of 
Wales  always  gets  the  straight  tip,  and 
I  '11  be  sure  to  be  put  on  to  something 
good." 

And  he  was.  Captain  Lushton  told 
him  that  his  mare  "  Nettie  "  was  sure  to 
win  the  Rangoon  Plate,  forgetting  to 
mention  that  he  himself  had  backed 
"  Tomboy  "  for  the  same  race. 

"  Must  have  wrenched  a  leg,"  Lush- 
ton  assured  Larry  when  "Nettie"  came 
in  absolutely  last. 

It  was  really  wonderful  how  many 
"  good  things  "  he  got  on  to  that  did 
run  last,  or  thereabouts.  It  may  have 
been  the  little  alabaster  Buddha  in  his 
pocket  that  brought  him  the  bad  luck ; 
79 


King  for  a  Day" 


but  as  the  secretary  wrote  "  I.  O.  U.  's  " 
for  all  the  bets  he  made,  and  as  Sir 
Lemuel  would  be  into  his  own  again 
before  settling  day,  and  would  have  to 
pay  up,  it  did  not  really  matter  to  the 
captain. 

The  regiment  was  so  pleased  with  Sir 
Lemuel's  contributions  that  the  best  they 
had  in  their  marquee  was  none  too  good 
for  him.  The  ladies  found  him  an 
equally  ready  mark.  Mrs.  Leyburn 
was  pretty,  and  had  fish  to  fry.  "  I 
must  do  a  little  missionary  work  while 
the  Ironclad  's  away,"  she  thought. 
Her  mission  was  to  install  her  husband 
in  the  position  of  port  officer.  That 
came  out  later  —  came  out  at  the  ball 
that  night.  The  captain  assured  her 
that  he  would  attend. 

There  is  always  a  sort  of  Donnybrook 
Derby  at  the  end  of  a  race  day  in  Ran 
goon.  Ponies  are  gently  sequestered 
80 


King  for  a  Day" 


from  their  more  or  less  willing  owners, 
and  handed  over,  minus  their  saddles, 
to  sailors,  who  pilot  them  erratically 
around  the  course  for  a  contributed 
prize.  When  the  captain  saw  the  hat 
going  around  for  the  prize  money,  he 
ordered  the  secretary  to  write  out  a 
"chit"  for  two  hundred  rupees.  "Give 
them  something  worth  while,  poor 
chaps,"  he  said. 

"And  to  think  that  the  Ironclad  has 
kept  this  bottled  up  so  long,"  muttered 
Lushton. 

"  I  always  said  you  had  a  good  heart," 
Mrs.  Leyburn  whispered  to  the  captain. 
"  If  people  would  only  let  you  show  it," 
she  added  maliciously;  meaning,  of 
course,  Lady  Jones. 

The  Chief  Commissioner  was  easily 
the  most  popular  man  in  Burmah  that 
night.  It  was  with  difficulty  the  blue 
jackets  could  be  kept  from  carrying  him 
81 


King  for  a  Day" 


home  on  their  shoulders.  "  I  hope  Lem 
is  looking  after  the  cargo  all  right," 
murmured  the  captain,  as  he  drove  home 
to  dinner.  "  I  seem  to  be  getting  along 
nicely.  Lucky  the  old  cat  's  away." 

The  captain  danced  the  opening  quad 
rille  at  the  ball  with  the  wife  of  the 
Financial  Commissioner,  and,  bar  a  little 
enthusiastic  rolling  engendered  of  his  sea 
life,  and  a  couple  of  torn  trails  as  they 
swept  a  little  too  close,  he  managed  it 
pretty  well.  The  secretary  had  piloted 
him  that  far.  Then  Mrs.  Leyburn 
swooped  down  upon  him. 

There  is  an  adornment  indigenous  to 
every  ballroom  in  the  East,  known  as 
the  kala  jagah ;  it  may  be  a  conserva 
tory  or  a  bay  window.  A  quiet  seat 
among  the  crotons,  with  the  drowsy 
drone  of  the  waltz  flitting  in  and  out 
among  the  leaves,  is  just  the  place  to 
work  a  man. 

82 


King  for  a  Day" 


I  'm  telling  you  this  now  ;  but  Mrs. 
Leyburn  knew  it  long  ago :  moons  be 
fore  Captain  Larry  opened  the  ball  with 
the  Financial  Commissioner's  wife.  Not 
that  Mrs.  Leyburn  was  the  only  woman 
with  a  mission.  Official  life  in  India  is 
full  of  them ;  only  she  had  the  start  — 
that  was  all. 

"  It 's  scandalous,"  another  missionary 
said  to  Captain  Lushton.  "  They  've 
been  in  there  an  hour — they  've  sat  out 
three  dances.  I  'm  sorry  for  poor  dear 
Lady  Jones." 

Among  the  crotons  the  missionary-in- 
the-field  was  saying :  "  I  'm  sure  Jack 
ordered  the  launch  to  meet  you  at  the 
steamer  that  time,  Sir  Lemuel.  He 
knows  you  were  frightfully  angry  about 
it,  and  has  felt  it  terribly.  He  's  simply 
afraid  to  ask  you  for  the  billet  of  port 
officer;  and  that  horrible  man  who  is 
acting  officer  now  will  get  it,  and  poor 

83 


King  for  a  Day" 


Jack  won't  be  able  to  send  me  up  to 
Darjeeling  next  hot  weather.  And 
you  '11  be  going  for  a  month  again  next 
season,  Sir  Lemuel,  won't  you  *?  " 

Now,  as  it  happened,  the  captain  had 
had  a  row  with  the  acting  port  officer 
coming  up  the  river;  so  it  was  just  in 
his  mitt,  as  he  expressed  it.  "  I  '11  ar 
range  it  for  Jack  to-morrow,"  he  said; 
"never  fear,  little  woman."  ("  He  spoke 
of  you  as  Jack,"  she  told  Leyburn  later 
on,  "  and  it  's  all  right,  love.  Lucky 
the  Ironclad  was  away.") 

A  lady  approaching  from  the  ball 
room  heard  a  little  rustle  among  the 
plants,  pushed  eagerly  forward,  and 
stood  before  them.  Another  mission 
ary  had  entered  the  field.  "  I  beg  par 
don,  Sir  Lemuel,"  and  she  disappeared. 

"  Perfectly  scandalous !  "  she  said,  as 
she  met  Lushton.     "  Some  one  ought  to 
advise  dear  Lady  Jones  of  that  design 
ing  creature's  behavior." 
84 


King  for  a  Day" 


"  For  Cupid's  sake,  don't,"  ejaculated 
Lushton,  fervently.  "  Let  the  old  boy 
have  his  fling.  He  does  n't  get  out 
often." 

"  I  've  no  intention  of  doing  so  my 
self,"  said  his  companion,  with  asperity. 

But  all  the  same  a  telegram  went  that 
night  to  Lady  Jones  at  Prome,  which 
bore  good  fruit  next  day,  and  much 
of  it. 

When  they  emerged  from  the  cro- 
tons,  Mrs.  Leyburn  was  triumphant. 
The  captain  was  also  more  or  less 
pleased  with  things  as  they  were.  "Jack 
will  probably  crack  Lem's  head  when 
he  does  n't  get  his  appointment,"  he 
thought. 

The  band  was  playing  a  waltz,  and 
he  and  Mrs.  Leyburn  mingled  with  the 
swinging  figures.  As  they  rounded  a 
couple  that  had  suddenly  steered  across 
the  captain's  course,  his  coat-tails  flew 
out  a  little  too  horizontally,  and  the 

85 


King  for  a  Day" 


yellow-faced  alabaster  god  rolled  on  the 
floor.  It  spun  around  like  a  top  for  a 
few  times,  and  then  sat  bolt  upright, 
grinning  with  hideous  familiarity  at  the 
astonished  dancers.  Not  that  many 
were  dancing  now,  for  a  wondering 
crowd  commenced  to  collect  about  the 
captain  and  the  grotesque  little  Buddha. 
The  lady-who-had-seen  took  in  the  sit 
uation  in  an  instant;  for  jealousy  acts 
like  new  wine  on  the  intellect.  She 
darted  forward,  picked  up  the  obese 
little  god,  and,  with  a  sweet  smile  on 
her  gentle  face,  proffered  it  to  the  cap 
tain's  companion,  with  the  remark,  "  I 
think  you  've  dropped  one  of  your  chil 
dren's  toys." 

Captain  Larry  was  speechless ;  he  was 
like  a  hamstrung  elephant,  and  as  help 
less. 

A  private  secretary  is  a  most  useful 
adjunct  to  a  Chief  Commissioner,  but  a 
86 


King  for  a  Day  " 


private  secretary  with  brains  is  a  jewel. 
So  when  Johnson  stepped  quickly  for 
ward  and  said,  "  Excuse  me,  madam, 
but  that  figure  belongs  to  me ;  I  dropped 
it,"  the  captain  felt  as  though  a  life-line 
had  been  thrown  to  him. 

The  secretary  put  the  Buddha  in  his 
pocket ;  and  it  really  appeared  as  though 
from  that  moment  the  captain's  luck 
departed.  He  slipped  away  early  from 
the  ball;  it  seemed,  somehow,  as  though 
the  fun  had  gone  out  of  the  thing.  He 
began  to  have  misgivings  as  to  the  like 
lihood  of  the  chief  engineer  keeping  his 
brother  shut  up  much  longer.  "  I  '11 
get  out  of  this  in  the  morning,"  he  said, 
as  he  turned  into  bed.  "  I  've  had 
enough  of  it.  I  '11  scuttle  the  ship  and 
clear  out." 

This  virtuous  intention  would  have 
been  easy  of  accomplishment,  compara 
tively,  if  he  had  not  slept  until  ten 
87 


King  for  a  Day" 


o'clock.  When  he  arose,  the  secretary 
came  to  him  with  a  troubled  face. 
"  There  's  a  telegram  from  Lady  Jones, 
Sir  Lemuel,  asking  for  the  carriage  to 
meet  her  at  the  station,  and  I  've  sent  it. 
She  's  chartered  a  special  train,  and  we 
expect  her  any  moment." 

"  Great  Scott !  I  'm  lost ! "  moaned 
the  captain.  "  I  must  get  out  of  this. 
Help  me  dress  quickly,  that  's  a  good 
fellow." 

An  official  accosted  him  as  he  came 
out  of  his  room.  "  I  want  to  see  you, 
Sir  Lemuel." 

"  Is  that  your  tom-tom  at  the  door  ?  " 
answered  the  captain,  quite  irrelevantly. 

"  Yes,  Sir  Lemuel." 

"  Well,  just  wait  here  for  a  few  min 
utes.  I  've  got  to  meet  Lady  Jones, 
and  I  'm  late." 

Jump  ing  into  the  cart,  he  drove  off 
at  a  furious  clip.  Fate,  in  the  shape  of 
88 


King  for  a  Day" 


the  Ironclad,  swooped  down  upon  him 
at  the  very  gate.  He  met  Lady  Jones 
face  to  face. 

"  Stop ! "  she  cried  excitedly.  "  Where 
are  you  going,  Sir  Lemuel  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  Sir  Lemuel !  "  roared  back 
the  disappointed  captain. 

"Nice  exhibition  you  're  making 
of  yourself —  Chief  Commissioner  of 
Burmah ! " 

"  I  'm  not  the  Commissioner  of  Bur 
mah.  I  'm  not  your  Sir  Lemuel,"  he 
answered,  anxious  to  get  away  at  any 
cost. 

"  The  man  is  mad.  The  next  thing 
you  '11  deny  that  I  'm  your  wife." 

"  Neither  are  you ! "  roared  the  en 
raged  captain,  and  away  he  sped. 

Lady  Jones  followed.  It  was  a  pro 
cession  ;  the  red  spokes  of  the  tom-tom 
twinkling  in  and  out  the  bright  patches 
of  sunlight  as  it  whirled  along  between 
89 


King  for  a  Day" 


the  big  banian-trees;  and  behind,  the 
carriage,  Lady  Jones  sitting  bolt  upright 
with  set  lips.  The  captain  reached  the 
wharf  first.  He  was  down  the  steps 
and  into  a  sampan  like  a  shot. 

It  was  the  only  sampan  there.  The 
carriage  dashed  up  at  that  instant.  There 
was  no  other  boat;  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  wait. 

"  Come,  Lem,  get  into  these  duds 
and  clear  out ! "  cried  the  captain,  as  he 
burst  into  his  cabin. 

"  You  villain !  I  '11  have  you  sent 
to  the  Andamans  for  this,"  exclaimed 
the  prisoner. 

"  Quick !  Your  wife  's  waiting  on 
the  dock,"  said  Larry. 

That  had  the  desired  effect ;  Sir  Lem 
uel  became  as  a  child  that  had  played 
truant. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Larry  ?  "  he 

9° 


King  for  a  Day" 


cried  pathetically.  "  You  've  ruined 
me." 

"No,  I  've  done  you  good.  And 
I  've  left  you  some  decent  wine  at  the 
house.  Get  ashore  before  she  comes 
off." 

"  There  's  no  help  for  it,"  said  Sir 
Lemuel.  "  There  are  your  orders  to 
proceed  to  Calcutta  to  load ;  your  beastly 
chief  engineer  insisted  on  shoving  them 
in  to  me." 

"  Don't  '  my  love '  me  !  "  said  the 
Ironclad,  when  Sir  Lemuel  climbed 
penitently  into  the  carriage.  "  An  hour 
ago  you  denied  that  I  was  your  wife." 

And  so  they  drove  off,  the  syce  taking 
the  tom-tom  back  to  its  owner.  It 
took  Sir  Lemuel  days  and  days  to 
straighten  out  the  empire  after  the  rule 
of  the  man  who  had  been  "  King  for 
a  Day." 

91 


DJALMA 


DJALMA 
CHAPTER   I 

THE  MESS,   9Jth  LANCERS, 

FRYABAD. 

Kismet  not  in  it.      Blitz,  Nina,  Lall  Wallah. 

LUSHTON. 

THAT  was  the  legend  of  the  tah  — 
the  bit  of  yellow  paper  stuck  up  on  the 
cardboard  in  the  officers'  mess. 

When  the  Colonel  came  in,  he  turned 
the  full  flare  of  his  glass  upon  its  som 
ber  reading;  then  dropped  into  a  chair 
with  a  groan.  A  dozen  men  in  uniform 
had  done  the  same ;  then  he  did  as  the 
other  dozen  had  done  —  he  ordered  a 
"  stiff  peg." 

95 


Djalma 

"Bowled  on  a  sure  thing,  sir  !  "  said 
Captain  Stewart,  laconically,  pulling  his 
eyebrows  down  in  the  direction  of  the 
bilious  looking  telegram  on  the  board. 

"  Huh  ! "  grunted  the  Colonel,  hunt 
ing  in  his  cheroot  case  for  the  blackest 
Burmah  there ;  "  he  '11  have  gone  a 
cropper  over  this,  I  'm  afraid." 

"Got  cold  going  up  in  the  train," 
said  one. 

"  Got  a  bad  send-off,"  said  another ; 
"  must  have  been  left  at  the  post." 

There  were  a  dozen  reasons  expressed 
for  the  defeat ;  but  presently  a  drawling 
voice  droned  out :  "  You  fellows  have 
got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  ear  this  time ; 
it  was  that  sevenfold  sinner  Hashim 
who  pulled  the  pony.  That  's  what 
kept  Kismet  from  winning,  and  what 
will  keep  us  from  banking  the  Luck- 
now  Johnnie's  rupees  this  trip." 

It  was  Captain  Learoyd  who  let  these 
96 


Djalma 

words  of  wisdom  slowly  find  their  way 
from  under  his  blond  mustache. 

"  You  need  n't  tell  me  that  a  pony 
that  goes  out  here  on  our  sand  track 
and  runs  the  three-quarters  in  one-nine- 
teen,  with  ten  stone  up,  and  a  griffin 
like  Campbell,  there,  in  the  pigskin, 
is  n't  going  to  get  a  place  in  the  'Cup.' 
He  ran  Silver  King  to  a  head  in  his 
trial ;  and  I  '11  bet  the  King  against 
an  ekka  pony  that  that  black  devil 
Hashim  pulled  him." 

Waterloo  had  come  to  Fryabad  - 
had  come  down  over  the  wire  in  that 
beastly  tah ;  and  things  were  in  a  bad 
way.     To  a  man  they  had  gone  down 
on  Lushton's  gray  Arab  pony  Kismet. 

Sundry  bits  of  paper  had  been  nego 
tiated  by  the  Bunyas,  and  the  coin  had 
been  dumped  into  the  laps  of  the  book 
ies  up  at  Lucknow  —  dumped  into  the 
sea,  as  far  as  Fryabad  was  concerned. 
97 


Djalma 

"Half  the  fellows  will  have  to  sell 
out,"  said  Learoyd  to  Lushton,  when 
the  latter  came  back  from  his  "  Civil 
Service  Cup"  hunt;  "but  that  is  n't 
your  fault,  old  man,"  he  added,  as  he 
saw  a  distressed  look  come  into  Lush- 
ton's  face. 

It  was  an  open  secret  that  Lushton 
was  pretty  well  gone  on  Ruth  Stevens, 
the  Collector's  winsome  daughter  ;  and, 
as  one's  monetary  matters  are  always 
public  property  in  India,  it  was  known 
that  he  could  not  marry  on  his  pay, 
which  was  all  he  had.  The  fellows 
were  all  sure  that  he  had  made  a  big 
play  for  a  small  fortune  over  the  "  Cup," 
at  Lucknow;  and  in  his  failure  they 
knew  that  he  would  probably  give  up 
Miss  Ruth. 

Lushton  himself  thought  bitterly  how 
little  he  could  do  with  his  paltry  four 
hundred  rupees  a  month  toward  giving 
98 


Djalma 

Ruth  anything  like  the  comfort  she  had 
been  accustomed  to. 

He  had  seen  it  all  before,  knew  just 
how  it  went.  Cheap  servants,  but  a 
bungalow  full  of  them  to  eat  up  the 
rupees.  And  then  when  the  hot  winds 
came  scorching  across  the  flat,  parched 
land,  it  would  bleach  the  rose-tinted 
cheeks  and  leave  them  bluish  white. 

And  the  little  toddlers  who  had 
romped  and  played  out  in  the  com 
pound  with  the  ayah  and  the  bearer 
would  get  a  far-away  look  in  their 
pinched  faces,  and  would  "  shout  less 
and  day-dream  more."  The  yellow- 
wheeled  dog-cart,  with  the  long-necked, 
lop-eared,  country-bred  tat  between  its 
high  shafts,  would  be  seen  oftener  and 
oftener  under  the  thatched  entrance  to 
his  bungalow.  The  doctor's  tanned 
face  would  grow  kindlier  and  sadder 
each  time  Lushton  put  the  daily  ques- 

99 


Djalma 

tion  to  him  about  the  butchas,  until 
finally,  one  day,  the  doctor  would  an 
swer  with  a  smothered  groan  and  a 
strong  grip  of  the  hand,  and  pass  out 
from  under  the  leafy  thatch,  not  to  re 
turn  until  the  next  needed  him. 

And  the  mother's  face  would  grow  so 
wan  and  white,  and  the  great  mass  of 
brown  hair  would  lie  wet  and  matted 
against  the  pillow,  from  the  dripping 
of  the  ice-bag  across  the  burning  brow. 

That  was  why  Lushton  made  the 
plunge ;  and,  incidentally,  went  a  crop 
per.  If  he  had  pulled  it  off,  the  hot 
winds  might  blow  and  the  sun  glare  on 
the  baked  plain  below,  but  Ruth  would 
be  away  up  at  some  hill-station,  or  in 
dear  old  England. 

It  had  n't  come  off,  so  he  would 
simply  drop  out  of  the  running  and  let 
some  other  fellow  have  a  chance.  It 
was  very  simple  logic  this;  but  that 

IOO 


Djalma 

was  the  man's  nature  —  strong,  and  sim 
ple,  and  true. 

He  had  his  own  suspicion  about 
Hashim's  handling  of  Kismet,  and  his 
relationship  with  Grant,  the  Deputy 
Collector;  but  he  kept  his  tongue  be 
tween  his  teeth  —  kept  it  closer  than 
he  had  kept  his  money. 

Then  before  the  settling  was  done 
with,  Lushton  had  to  sell  his  ponies. 
And  Kismet,  with  his  silver  skin,  and 
tail  sweeping  the  ground,  was  bought 
from  under  the  hammer  by  Grant. 

That  night  at  the  mess  there  was 
some  pretty  plain  gup ;  and  Grant 
came  in  for  a  little  rough  handling. 

Learoyd  made  up  his  mind  to  a  few 
things  on  his  own  account.  He  deter 
mined  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  pull 
ing  of  Kismet;  and  he  also  meant  to 
see  to  it  that  Lushton  did  not  lose 
Ruth. 

101 


Djalma 

Lushton  had  told  him  that  Kismet 
seemed  very  sluggish  on  going  to  the 
post ;  so  he  concluded  that  Hashim  had 
given  him  one  of  those  native  drugs 
they  always  have,  in  obedience  to  a 
command  from  Grant. 

Lushton  met  Miss  Ruth  often,  but 
only  once  did  he  speak  to  her  before 
the  hot  season  drove  her  and  the  other 
ladies  to  the  hills. 

It  was  when  the  polo  team  from 
Curryabad  played  Fryabad,  Lushton 
got  a  tremendous  fall  by  his  pony  put 
ting  his  foot  in  a  hole.  He  felt  his 
pony  going  down  under  him,  and  then 
there  was  a  surging  as  of  great  waters 
closing  in  about  him.  As  he  lay  on 
his  back  in  the  big  marquee,  he  was 
dimly  conscious  of  a  sea  of  peering 
faces,  and  they  angered  him.  But  he 
could  not  collect  his  scattered  senses. 
The  faces  came  and  went  in  strange 


Dja/ma 

confusion,  and  the  murmur  of  voices 
was  as  the  roar  of  a  cataract. 

How  he  wished  they  would  go  away! 
If  he  could  only  speak  he  would  order 
them  about  their  business  —  deuced 
bad  form,  he  thought  it,  on  their  part. 

Then  a  soft,  musical  voice  arrested 
his  attention ;  and  a  pair  of  merciful 
gray  eyes,  soft  and  pitying,  came  be 
tween  him  and  the  hated  faces  —  it  was 
Ruth  asking  the  surgeon  in  low,  sweet 
tones  if  he  were  much  hurt. 

With  a  mighty  effort  he  steadied 
himself,  and  keeping  his  wavering 
senses  close  to  those  wondrous  eyes  for 
a  second,  answered,  "  I  'm  all  right, 
Miss  Stevens  "  ;  and  then  he  went  to 
pieces  again  —  went  to  pieces  for  long 
enough,  for  it  was  a  deuced  close  shave 
of  fracture  of  the  skull. 

Then  there  were  days  of  nursing; 
and  much  ice,  many  flowers,  and  the 
103 


Djalma 

good  friendship  which  strong  men  give 
and  get  when  things  go  wrong. 

One  day  the  flowers  ceased  to  come, 
and  he  knew  that  Ruth  had  gone  away 
to  the  hills. 

Then  for  months  the  caldron  seethed, 
and  the  hot  winds  swept  across  the  sun- 
glared  plain;  and  to  the  daily  routine 
of  army  life  there  came  not  any  relief. 
Then  the  furnace  went  out ;  the  cool 
winds  blew;  and  the  people  from  the 
hills  trooped  back  again,  bringing  the 
perfume  of  the  deodars  in  their  hair, 
and  the  enamel  of  the  mountain  breezes 
upon  their  cheeks. 

Grant  had  been  one  of  the  few  men 
who  had  gotten  away  to  the  hills.  All 
the  fellows  joined  in  fervent,  prayers 
that  he  might  drop  over  a  cliff;  not 
too  gently,  either,  for  they  were  all  shy 
of  him.  But  he  turned  up  like  the 
others  —  fresh  as  a  mango. 
104 


CHAPTER   II 

ABOUT  a  month  later,  as  Lushton  was 
sitting  in  his  bungalow  one  evening,  his 
bearer  came  and  reported  that  a  syce 
wanted  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Send  him  in,"  answered  Lushton. 

A  tall,  north-country  Hindoo  soon 
stood  before  him.  He  salaamed  to  the 
ground,  and  something  in  his  face  ap 
peared  familiar  to  Lushton. 

"  Does  the  Sahib  remember  Rama- 
dine  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  remember  about  forty  Ramadines," 
replied  Lushton;  "but  your  particular 
form  of  it  does  not  outline  itself  on  my 
memory  with  any  degree  of  clearness. 
Did  you  ever  work  for  me  ?  " 

I05 


Djalma 

Then  the  gaunt,  weird-looking  syce 
recalled  to  his  memory  a  certain  night 
some  years  since,  upon  which  he  had 
rescued  Ramadine — the  Ramadine  who 
stood  before  him — from  three  drunken 
soldiers  who  were  abusing  him.  And 
it  had  taken  a  few  straight  punches  from 
his  well-trained  arm  to  convince  them 
that  it  was  not  fair  for  three  of  them  to 
abuse  a  poor  Hindoo. 

Then  Lushton  remembered  him. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  a  post  as  syce, 
or  a  chit  from  me  to  some  one.  Is  that 
it?" 

"  No,  Sahib  Huzoor,  your  slave  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  Collector  Sahib's  Missie 
Baba  as  syce,  and  except  that  my 
country  is  far  away,  Ramadine  is 
pleased. 

"  Huzoor,  the  Collector  Sahib  bought 
a  tattoo  [pony]  in  Simla,  as  strong  as  a 
hagh  [tiger]  and  as  swift,  to  carry  the 
1 06 


Djalma 

great  weight  his  goodness  has  brought 
him  from  the  gods. 

"Djalma  has  a  back  broader  than 
the  Sahib's  shoulders,  and  legs  of  iron. 
He  is  of  Indistan,  but  his  legs  do  not 
knock  together  behind  like  unto  a  cow's, 
as  do  the  horses  of  this  land.  He  stands 
with  his  hocks  far  out  like  an  Arab ; 
and  great  is  his  strength,  O  Sahib ! 
And  if  the  Sahib  will  pass  a  string  from 
where  the  joint  is  in  the  wither,  along 
the  neck,  between  the  ears  —  the  small 
ears  like  bits  of  silk  —  down  to  the  nose, 
he  will  find  it  long  —  a  full  half  hand 
longer  than  from  there  to  the  tail.  Did 
not  Sheik  Hafiz  show  the  Presence  how 
the  Arabsjudge  the  strong  runners,  when 
he  was  in  Bombay*?  Raise  your  arm, 
so,  Sahib;  that  's  the  way  my  Djalma's 
shoulders  slope ;  and  the  Sahib,  who 
knows  a  horse  as  Ramadine  knows  his 
brother,  knows  that  that  is  speed." 
107 


Djalma 

"  But  how  came  you  to  be  with  this 
tat,  Ramadine  *?  "  asked  Lushton. 

"  I  did  not  go  to  Djalma,  Huzoor ; 
my  gods  were  pleased  because  I  gave 
to  Shir — the  'Brahminy  Bull'  that 
comes  each  day  to  see  that  Djalma  and 
Ramadine  are  well  —  half  my  share  of 
dan  for  one  whole  moon,  so  they  brought 
us  together." 

"But  why  does  n't  the  Sahib  ride  this 
peerless  horse,  Ramadine  *? "  queried 
Lushton. 

"  Huzoor,  he  did  one  day ;  and  as 
another  passed  him  my  Djalma  flew. 
How  fast  he  went  I  know  not,  for  soon 
poor  Ramadine  had  lost  them  both.  I 
looked  long  for  Djalma,  my  pearl,  but 
found  him  not;  then  I  looked  for  the 
Sahib,  and  found  him  where  the  Sahib 
goes  shikari  for  his  snipe.  And  half  a 
biggah  of  paddy  land  was  ruined  where 
the  Sahib  had  fallen  from  Djalma's  back. 
1 08 


Djalma 

"And  then  Grant  Sahib  wanted  to 
try  the  'brute' — he  called  my  pearl  a 
brute ;  but  Ramadine  put  more  dan 
where  Shir,  with  the  eyes  of  a  god, 
comes ;  and  once  more  Ramadine's 
kismet  was  good. 

"  Djalma  came  walking  back  to 
Ramadine;  but  it  took  four  stout  chu- 
prassies  to  carry  Grant  Sahib  from 
where  my  pearl  had  thrown  him. 

"  And  when  I  took  off  the  saddle  there 
lay  a  twig  of  the  biting  vine  next  my  pet's 
tender  skin.  The  gods  put  it  there,  Sahib. 

"  The  Missie  Baba  said  she  was  not 
afraid  of  Djalma ;  and  Djalma  told 
Ramadine  that  he  would  carry  the 
Bilatti  Begum  as  gently  as  a  mother 
carries  her  child.  Now  they  are  always 
together — the  Missie  Baba  and  Djalma; 
but  the  Collector  Sahib  says,  *  By 
Damn ;  Djalma  must  go  as  soon  as  any 
one  will  buy  him.'" 
109 


Djalma 

Lushton  sat  back  in  his  chair,  smok 
ing  his  cheroot  and  listening  patiently 
to  Ramadine's  Oriental-clothed  tale. 
He  had  experience  enough  of  the 
natives  to  know  there  was  something 
behind  all  this.  He  knew  that  the 
wild-eyed  Hindoo,  squatted  on  his 
heels  like  a  monkey,  had  had  some 
object  in  keeping  anybody  but  Ruth 
from  riding  Djalma.  It  was  Rama 
dine's  hand  that  had  placed  the  prickly 
creeper  under  the  saddle  to  give  Grant 
his  spill. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  is  swift. 
Ramadine*?"  he  suddenly  asked,  send 
ing  a  sharp  glance  into  the  dark  face  in 
front  of  him. 

"  Surely  he  is  like  the  wind,  O 
judge  of  horses!  When  the  Sahib  has 
seen,  then  he  will  know  that  Ramadine 
has  spoken  true.  If  he  is  swifter  than 
the  silver  Kismet,  that  was  once  the 


Djalma 

Sahib's,  will  not  that  surely  do?  Will 
not  the  Sahib  buy  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  poor  now  to  buy  any  race 
horses,  Ramadine,"  said  Lushton,  with 
just  a  touch  of  regret  in  his  voice. 

Then  with  a  grave  salaam  Ramadine 
passed  noiselessly  out  into  the  night. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  Learoyd,  next  day, 
when  Lushton  told  him  about  his  inter 
view  with  Ramadine.  "The  gods  have 
taken  pity  on  you,  and  thrown  this  in 
your  way  to  make  up  for  your  bad 
luck.  I  '11  have  a  look  at  the  gee-gee ; 
and  if  he  shapes  well  we  must  get 
hold  of  him,  and  get  our  stuff  back 
from  the  Philistines  who  have  despoiled 
us." 

"We  can't  do  that,"  replied  Lushton; 
"  it  would  be  like  robbing  the  Collector 
to  buy  his  pony  for  a  song,  if  he  is  such 
a  good  one.  Besides,  if  I  were  to  ap 
pear  anxious  to  get  the  pony,  I  believe 


Djalma 

the  black  devil  would  make  him  run 
away  with  Miss  Stevens." 

"  That  would  never  do,"  said  Learoyd, 
as  he  tickled  his  pony's  ribs  with  a  spur 
and  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Next  evening  Learoyd  rode  back 
from  polo  with  Miss  Ruth  and  had  a 
good  look  at  Djalma.  He  was  horse 
man  enough  to  note  the  high  courage 
showing  in  the  big  eyes  set  in  the  lean, 
bony  head ;  the  wide  nostrils  that  went 
with  the  deep,  powerful  chest ;  and  the 
massive  muscles  of  the  arm.  Short 
coupled,  with  a  tremendous  reach  un 
derneath,  and  an  almost  English  blood 
neck,  he  showed  to  Learoyd's  practised 
eye  all  the  points  of  a  miniature  thor 
oughbred.  It  was  just  such  a  powerful 
pony  as  this  that  was  needed  to  stay  the 
tiring  three-quarters  of  the  Civil  Service 
Cup  —  raced,  as  it  was,  from  end  to  end, 
and  always  with  a  big  field. 

112 


Djalma 

Learoyd's  report  to  Lushton  that  night 
fairly  made  his  ears  tingle ;  but  still  he 
refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  "I  won't  touch  him,"  he  said; 
"  I  am  out  of  the  running." 

Some  days  later  Lushton  was  walking 
in  the  early  morning,  when  he  came 
across  Ramadine  holding  Djalma's  head 
under  a  mango-tree  by  the  roadside. 

"Where  is  your  mistress?"  he  asked. 

"Huzoor,  she  is  gone  to  see  the  mem 
sahib  who  is  sick  over  there,"  replied 
Ramadine. 

"And  that  is  Djalma  —  eh,  Rama 
dine  ?  " 

"Ha,  Huzoor,  of  a  certainty !  There 
could  only  be  one  such.  And  will  the 
Sahib  not  buy  him  from  the  Collector 
Sahib,  and  win  the  big  race  at  Lucknow, 
and  many  lakhs  of  rupees  *?  " 

"No,  Ramadine,  I  will  not  buy  him. 
I  have  no  doubt  he  is  a  good  one,  for 


Djalma 

he  looks  it,  but  would  I  not  be  like  a 
Pindari  thief  to  buy  him  for  a  small 
sum  from  my  friend  if  he  is  so  good  *?  " 

Just  then  Djalma  pricked  his  ears 
and  gave  a  little  neigh,  but  there  was 
no  one  in  sight. 

If  Lushton's  eyes  had  been  as  keen 
as  Djalma's  scent  he  would  have  seen  a 
slight  figure  in  a  white  drill  riding-habit, 
just  beyond  the  myriad  sword-like 
blades  of  the  aloe  hedge ;  only  for  an 
instant  had  the  figure  been  there,  look 
ing  for  an  opening  to  get  through;  but 
fate  often  crowds  the  essence  of  a  life 
time  into  a  minute,  and  Ruth,  for  it  was 
she,  had  heard  enough  to  bring  a  hot 
flush  to  her  cheeks,  and  the  glint  of  a 
resolve  into  the  kindly  gray  eyes. 

But  Lushton  saw  not  anything  as  he 

turned   up  the  road;  and  Fate  danced 

on  top  of  the  prickly  sword-points,  and 

slapped  his  thigh  in  glee  —  only  no  one 

114 


Djalma 

saw  him,  not  even  Djalma,  who  was 
watching  the  hedge  with  an  arched  neck, 
and  an  eager,  side-long  look. 

Then  Fate  stopped  his  jig  for  a  mo 
ment;  and,  with  stately  bow,  pointed 
out  the  narrow  opening  Ruth  had  been 
looking  for;  then  he  stuck  his  tongue 
in  his  cheek  as  she  vanished  in  the  cloud 
of  mist  Djalma  was  swirling  into  the  air 
with  his  powerful  feet. 

The  resolve  that  was  in  Ruth's  busy 
brain  traveled  down  her  arm,  and  got 
into  the  firm  fingers  grasping  the  reins, 
and  Djalma  knew  that  there  was  some 
thing  up.  He  unstrung  his  great  mus 
cles,  and  gave  them  full  play,  until  the 
red  rubble  road  smoothed  itself  out  and 
became  a  ribbon  running  through  a 
woof  of  green. 

Then  the  reins  slackened  a  little,  a 
soft,  gloved  hand  reached  down  and 
stroked  the  glistening  neck,  with  its 


Djalma 

veins  standing  out  like  cord,  and  Djalma 
eased  down  his  mad  gallop.  Once  or 
twice  a  drop  of  warm  rain  splashed  on 
his  neck ;  but  the  sky  was  clear,  and 
probably  there  was  not  a  rain-cloud 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  them.  Djalma, 
with  his  limited  intelligence,  could  not 
make  it  out,  so  he  simply  rattled  the 
snaffle  in  his  teeth  by  way  of  comment. 

"  There,  father,"  said  Ruth,  as  she 
dismounted,  "I  shall  not  ride  Djalma 
again.  You  may  sell  him  as  soon  as 
you  wish." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  the  Collector.  "  I 
thought  you  would  get  enough  of  that 
budmash.  He  's  got  a  mouth  like  iron, 
and  Shaitan  himself  could  not  hold  him 
when  he  takes  it  into  his  pig's  head 
to  go." 

"  I  dare  say  that  Mr.  Grant  will  buy 
him,  father,"  said  Ruth,  with  just  the 
suspicion  of  a  query  in  her  voice. 
116 


Djalma 

"  What  a  feeler !  "  chuckled  Fate  to 
himself;  for,  fast  as  they  had  come,  he 
had  kept  up  with  them. 

"  I  dare  say  he  would — just  for  the 
fun  of  shooting  him,"  answered  her 
father,  grimly;  "but  not  to  ride  him, 
oh,  dear,  no  !  " 

So  a  notice  was  sent  around  to  the 
Mess  and  the  Gym  that  Mr.  Ste 
vens  had  a  C.  B.  pony,  13.2,  up  to  any 
weight,  for  sale;  sound  in  wind  and 
limb,  and  fast;  only  known  fault  being 
a  vicious  temper. 

All  the  Collector  asked  for  him  was 
Rs.3<X) ;  but  nobody  would  have  him 
at  any  price. 

At  last  Learoyd  went  to  the  owner, 
and  said :  "  Your  pony  is  very  fast.  I 
think  you  are  foolish  to  sell  him  for  so 
small  a  sum." 

"Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I 
do,  my  dear  boy,  for  I  rode  him  at  the 
117 


Djalma 

rate  of  a  mile  a  minute,  much  against 
my  will  though  it  was.  I  had  to  pay 
five  rupees  for  the  paddy  I  destroyed 
in  my  fall.  It  's  just  because  he  is  so 
fast,  and  so  handy  with  his  speed,  that  I 
want  to  sell  him.  If  I  can't  sell  him  I 
shall  give  him  away.  Even  Ruth  won't 
ride  him  any  more;  and  I  never  knew  her 
to  funk  any  horse  before.  He  's  simply 
a  new  kind  of  devil  on  four  hoofs." 

That  settled  it.  Leroyd  and  Lush- 
ton  became  joint  owners  of  Djalma. 

Ramadine  went  with  the  pony. 

On  the  third  evening  after  the  sale, 
Ramadine  was  ushered  into  Lushton's 
presence  by  the  bearer. 

"Ramadine  will  speak,  Huzoor,"  he 
began. 

"  What  is  it,  Ramadine  ?  " 

"  Sahib,  Ramadine  has  seen  this  thing 
with  his  own  eyes.  Your  slave  saw 
Djalma  and  Kismet  struggle  together 
118 


Djalma 

for  full  two  kos.  Of  a  certainty  did 
Djalma  carry  full  eight  seer  more  than 
the  other.  And  how  far  did  he  gallop 
in  front"?  Only  Ramadine  and  Rama- 
dine's  brother  know  that.  Djalma  went 
first,  and  the  other  came  after,  as  runs 
a  syce  behind.  Such  strength  is  his, 
Huzoor  !  I  never  saw  such  strength  !  " 

"You  were  a  fool,  Ramadine — a  per 
fect  puggle,  to  let  Grant  Sahib  try  his 
pony  with  Djalma." 

"  Speak  softly,  O  Sahib.  You  who 
are  my  father  and  my  mother,  have  pa 
tience  with  your  slave.  The  Sahib, 
the  Dep'ty  Sahib,  was  resting  from  the 
ride  my  Djalma  gave  him;  and  only 
Ramadine's  brother  and  himself  and  the 
gidro  saw  the  two  ponies  as  they  flew 
faster  than  the  wind.  Ramadine's  bro 
ther  is  syce  to  Kismet ;  and  he  it  was  who 
rode  him,  and  your  slave  rode  Djalma." 

After  the  syce  had  gone,  Lushton  sat 
119 


Djalma 

long  pondering  over  what  he  had  heard. 
It  was  wrong  on  the  part  of  Ramadine 
to  take  the  ponies  out  of  the  stable  and 
try  them,  but  that  had  been  before  he 
had  owned  Djalma,  so  it  was  not  quite 
his  business  to  say  anything  about  it. 
Besides,  he  felt  sure  that  Grant  had 
bribed  Hashim  to  pull  Kismet  the  year 
before ;  so  it  but  served  him  right  now. 
But  what  a  good  one  Djalma  must  be 
if  he  could  carry  sixteen  pounds  more 
than  Kismet  and  beat  him ;  for  Kismet 
was  very  fit. 

Then  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed 
that  he  was  galloping  along  on  Djalma's 
back ;  but  he  was  terribly  handicapped 
by  the  lakh  of  rupees  that  he  was  car 
rying  as  saddle-weights.  Then  one  of 
the  bags  of  rupees  burst,  and  the  jin 
gling  of  the  coins,  as  they  fell,  woke 
him  up  with  a  start.  The  rupees  had 
fallen  —  slipped  from  his  pocket  on  to 
120 


Djalma 

the  hard  floor ;  but  they  were  several 
thousand  short  of  a  lakh.  A  shattered 
glass  lay  on  the  floor,  where  he  had 
knocked  it  off  the  arm  of  his  chair 
while  doing  that  sleep  gallop. 

The  next  day  Lushton  told  Learoyd 
about  the  trial. 

"My  own  opinion  is,"  said  Learoyd, 
"  that  Djalma  could  do  it.  I  gave  him 
a  breather  for  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
yesterday,  and  he  galloped  like  a  Waler 
under  me.  But  it 's  no  end  of  a  mystery 
to  me  why  in  thunder  Miss  Stevens 
parted  with  him.  This  morning  she 
came  cantering  into  the  compound  on 
that  knock-kneed  Cabuli  she  has  got, 
to  ask  if  I  had  sent  to  Calcutta  for 
the  wigs  for  the  performance.  That  is 
what  she  said  she  was  after;  but  she 
hung  around  till  she  got  a  chance  to 
rub  Djalma's  nose,  and  the  pony'  was 
just  as  bad  about  her. 

121 


Djalma 

"  But  what  we  must  do,  old  man, 
is,  give  him  a  pukka  trial  with  the  King, 
or  something  else, —  that  is,  as  soon  as 
he  is  fit.  But  we  can't  do  it  on  the 
maidan ;  it  's  too  full  of  holes,  and  we 
must  have  the  distance  right.  I  have 
been  thinking  it  over,  and  as  it  's  not 
safe  to  trust  this  Hashim  jat,  it  will  be 
better  to  put  a  couple  of  the  jockeys  up 
when  they  come  up  for  the  Sky  races 
next  month.  The  boys  will  think  we 
are  trying  something  for  the  races  here. 
I  can  ride  him  at  work  myself,  in  the 
meantime ;  for  Ramadine  has  spread 
the  report  that  I  have  to  take  Djalma 
out  into  the  country,  and  let  him  run 
away  with  me  for  ten  or  twenty  miles 
before  I  can  do  anything  with  him. 
Grant  has  entered  Kismet  for  the  Cup 
again ;  but  I  think  we  '11  pip  him  with 
Djalma  this  time." 

122 


Djalma 

So  it  was  settled  that  he  was  to  be 
tried  at  the  time  of  the  Sky  races ;  and 
Learoyd  went  on  training  him. 

"  You  're  working  for  your  mistress 
still,  old  man,"  he  said  to  the  gray,  as 
he  loosened  the  girth  after  a  hard  gal 
lop;  "  for  if  you  win  the  Cup,  I  'm  think 
ing  your  mistress  and  your  half  owner 
will  be  one." 

But  with  the  mistress  (Ruth)  life  was 
not  all  attar.  Grant  was  a  great  favor 
ite  with  her  father.  He  was  a  perfect 
glutton  for  work.  His  mean,  savage 
nature  took  an  unholy  delight  in  wad 
ing  knee-deep  in  the  troubles  of  the 
natives.  The  more  they  thronged  his 
court,  the  happier  he  grew.  His  was 
a  nature  which  feasted  on  the  deceit, 
and  the  misery,  and  the  extortion  which 
was  daily  laid  bare.  He  loved  to  gloat 
with  a  ghoulish  delight  over  the  suffer- 
123 


Djalma 

ings  of  the  people;  so  he  worked  and 
delved  with  a  feverish  interest — "zeal," 
his  superior  officer  called  it. 

Ruth  did  not  know  all  this ;  but  she 
knew  that  his  presence  caused  her  to 
shudder. 

She  saw  very  little  of  Lushton,  for  he 
took  a  Quixotic  pleasure  in  keeping 
himself  in  the  background  —  giving 
other  fellows  a  chance,  he  called  it. 


124 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  was  when  the  time  for  the  Sky 
Meet  had  come  around  that  Learoyd 
said  to  Lushton : 

"  We  must  have  our  trial  to-night, 
old  man.  I  have  arranged  everything. 
I  have  got  Dick  Rich  and  Donald 
Green  to  ride  the  trial.  They  are 
stopping  at  the  dak  bungalow,  and 
will  be  at  the  course  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  It  will  be  bright  moon 
light  then,  as  clear  as  day.  I  have 
hung  around  the  course  for  a  week, 
early  and  late,  and  I  never  could  find 
three  minutes  of  daylight  that  there 
was  n't  some  one  mooning  about  there. 
125 


Djalma 

I  believe  that  Grant  has  Hashim  and 
one  or  two  others  subsidized  to  watch 
that  we  don't  pull  off  a  trial.  I  'm 
cock  sure  that  he  thinks  there  is  some 
thing  in  the  wind." 

"You  can  slip  away  from  the  ball 
to-night  —  for  this  is  the  night  of  the 
'  Station  Ball,'  you  know  —  say  about 
two  o'clock,  and  Ramadine  will  meet 
you  with  the  ponies.  I  '11  take  the 
hurdles  down ;  they  are  only  wings  put 
up  to  keep  the  horses  in  work  from 
cutting  up  the  course.  You  start  them, 
and  I  will  see  them  at  the  finish. 

"  Dick  is  about  seven  pounds  heavier 
than  Donald,  and  I  will  put  seven 
pounds  of  lead  in  Djalma's  saddle-cloth  ; 
so  he  will  be  giving  the  King  about  a 
stone.  If  he  can  live  with  him  then  he 
will  do  for  the  Cup." 

It  was  all  so  beautifully  arranged 
that  it  was  a  pity  Fate  should  take  his 
126 


Dja/ma 

die  from  his  pocket,  give  it  a  twirl  on 
the  cement  floor  of  the  veranda,  look  at 
the  little  black  spots  on  the  white  cube 
for  a  moment,  and  then  pocket  it  again 
with  a  leer  on  his  set  face.  And  he 
hummed : 

Threes  are  yours 

And  fours  are  mine  ; 

Low  you  win, 

And  Fate  gains  high. 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

When  the  floor  and  the  music  are 
good,  and  there  are  enough  uniforms 
sprinkled  among  the  black  evening 
coats  to  set  off  the  white  dresses  of  the 
ladies,  it  is  a  pretty  strong  touch  of 
fairyland ;  that  is,  if  a  man's  digestion 
is  all  right,  and  he  is  not  jealous.  But 
that  was  just  what  was  the  matter  with 
Grant  —  the  heart,  not  the  liver  part 
of  it. 

127 


Djalma 

"  Miss  Ruth  is  flirting  outrageously," 
he  said  to  himself;  and  the  men  seemed 
leagued  together  to  keep  him  from  get 
ting  a  dance  with  her.  Even  then,  as 
he  stood  with  a  lurid  gleam  in  his  pig 
gish  eyes,  she  was  talking  to  Lushton ; 
and  he  could  see  with  half  an  eye  that 
her  face  was  lighted  up  with  an  ex 
pression  that  never  came  into  it  when 
he  was  talking  to  her.  He  tried  to 
edge  a  little  closer  without  being  ob 
served,  for  he  would  have  given  worlds 
to  have  heard  what  they  were  saying. 
He  was  sure  it  was  something  spoony; 
but  it  was  n't,  really ;  it  was  only  racing. 

"But  you  will  run  Djalma  in  'The 
Cup,'  won't  you,  Captain  Lushton  ? " 
Ruth  was  saying. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Lushton,  for 
getting  for  a  moment  that  he  was  talk 
ing  to  Ruth,  and  going  at  it  as  though 
he  were  taking  a  water  jump.  "  I  mean 
128 


Djalma 

to  have  one  more  try  for  her  —  for,  for 
the  Cup,  I  mean." 

"  Devilish  near  made  a  mess  of  that," 
he  said  to  himself,  feeling  the  roots  of 
his  hair  stewing  in  a  hot  rush  of  blood. 

She  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  his 
slip,  so  he  braced  himself  up  to  ask, 
"  But  why  did  you  sell  Djalma,  Miss 
Stevens'?" 

"Because  I  am  not  a  racing  man," 
she  laughed ;  "  but  I  really  did  n't  sell 
him ;  it  was  father  who  sold  him." 

"  But  why  did  you  allow  him  to  sell 
him4?" 

"  Because  - 

"Because  what*?  "  he  queried. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  changing 
the  subject  suddenly,  and  looking  over 
toward  the  door  where  Grant  stood 
watching  them  with  a  vicious  side-look, 
"why  a  Mussulman  will  not  eat  crabs*? 
Our  old  boberchie  was  telling  me  to-day. 
129 


Djalma 

It  is  because  they  have  a  peculiar  mark 
on  the  back,  just  as  though  a  cloven  hoof 
had  left  its  imprint  there.  It  may  have 
been  made  by  a  pig  or  by  Sheitan  [the 
devil] ;  but  it  was  pretty  much  all  the 
same,  he  said,  for  the  pigs  were  all  pos 
sessed  anyway.  It  was  the  sight  of  a 
face  which  I  saw  just  now  that  made 
me  think  of  this;  it  made  me  shudder. 
Some  men  carry  this  mark  on  their 
face." 

Then  he  lost  her.  One  of  the  uni 
forms  had  gotten  her  for  a  waltz. 

"  There  is  something  up,"  muttered 
Grant,  as  he  watched  Lushton  and 
Learoyd  talking  together.  "  When 
Lushton  is  n't  with  Miss  Stevens  to 
night  he  's  hatching  deviltry  with  that 
fool  friend  of  his."  And  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  watch  them,  and  see  what  was 
in  the  wind. 

But  though  he  watched  close  enough, 
130 


Djalma 

he  presently  became  aware  of  the  fact 
that  Lushton  had  disappeared. 

"  Damn  him ! "  he  muttered,  "  he  has 
given  me  the  slip;  but  whatever  's 
on,  the  other  one  is  in  it  too,  and  one 
is  easier  game  to  track." 

Presently  Learoyd  strolled  out  to  the 
buffet,  had  a  peg,  lighted  a  cheroot, 
and  wandered  aimlessly  off  into  the 
grounds  surrounding  the  hall;  but  the 
pig-like  eyes  were  following  him  now, 
and  whether  he  walked  slow  or  whether 
he  walked  fast  they  would  never  lose 
sight  of  him  until  that  night's  work 
was  done,  whatever  it  was. 

Once  clear  of  the  lights,  Learoyd 
quickened  his  pace,  and  made  straight 
for  the  course. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  sneered  Grant  to  himself, 
"  that 's  your  little  game,  eh  "?  A  moon 
light  trial.  I  like  that  better  than  dan 
cing.  I  '11  assist,  on  the  quiet." 


Djalma 

Like  a  hyena  he  slouched  along  be 
hind  the  tall  figure  swinging  along 
through  the  mango  tope  to  the  course. 

Crouching  behind  the  mud  embank 
ment  thrown  up  at  the  lower  turn  of 
the  course,  Grant  saw  Lushton  take  the 
hurdles  up  one  by  one  and  place  them 
to  one  side.  When  he  had  finished  and 
gone  up  to  the  grand  stand,  the  figure 
stole  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  bank, 
and,  taking  one  of  the  hurdles,  put  it 
back  in  its  place  again. 

"Curse  them!"  he  muttered;  "that 
will  bring  them  down.  I  see  what  it  is 
now;  they  are  going  to  ride  a  trial.  If 
Lushton  breaks  his  neck,  't  will  be  be 
cause  Learoyd  has  forgotten  to  take  it 
down,  that  's  all."  And  he  gave  a 
ghoulish  chuckle. 

Then  he  stooped  under  the  rope 
which  was  strung  through  the  posts  in 
a  circle  around  the  course  in  lieu  of  a 
132 


Djalma 

rail,  and  laid  down  close  to  the  hurdle 
to  watch  the  result  of  his  deviltry. 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

Grant  heard  it;  but  he  thought  it 
was  the  night  winds  sighing  through 
the  rope  almost  over  his  head. 

When  Learoyd  reached  the  stand 
Lushton  was  there  with  Ramadine  and 
the  ponies;  then  the  boys  turned  up 
and  were  mounted,  with  instructions  to 
go  across  to  the  three-quarters. 

"  Break  away  as  soon  as  you  can, 
and  come  home  as  fast  as  the  gee-gees 
will  carry  you ;  but  don't  hit  him,  Dick, 
for  he  will  do  all  he  can  without  that. 
Just  sit  tight,  and  steady  his  head;  for 
I  fancy  he  's  a  bit  kacha  on  a  pukka  race 
course." 

Lushton  sent  the  ponies  around  and 
cut  across  to  the  three-quarter  post 
himself. 

133 


Djalma 

"  May  I  be  fired  in  both  shins  if  here 
is  n't  one  of  those  Johnnies  from  the 
hop,  so  beastly  full  of  simpkin  that 
he  's  mooning  about  here  on  the  course 
to  cool  his  official  head,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  the  figure  of  a  man  loomed  up  in  the 
light  mist  which  was  creeping  over  the 
maidan. 

But  it  was  only  Craig,  Craig  the  one 
time  trainer  and  jockey.  Of  late  years 
he  had  been  riding  the  fiery  steeds 
which  are  stabled  in  bottles.  Riding 
for  Exshaw,  he  called  it. 

In  his  brief  spells  of  sorrowful  sober 
ness  he  slept  in  the  grand  stand  and 
touted.  The  sometimes  donation  of  a 
rupee,  which  Lushton  was  in  the  habit 
of  indulging  in,  had  garnered  a  harvest 
of  gratitude ;  and  as  soon  as  Craig  saw 
that  it  was  his  benefactor  he  hastened 
to  do  him  a  good  turn. 

"Grant's  ponies  are  here  for  a  trial, 


Djalma 

sir,"  he  began;  "I  saw  them  going 
around  the  course  just  now." 

Lushton  knew  that  they  were  n't 
Grant's;  but  reflecting  that  a  little 
knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing,  he 
wisely  refrained  from  enlarging  on  the 
subject.  Instead,  he  took  Craig  along 
with  him  so  that  he  should  not  see  the 
finish. 

"  Let  's  go  over  and  see  them  start," 
he  said  laconically. 

When  he  got  over  to  the  post  he 
could  see  the  ponies  back  a  little,  see 
sawing  back  and  forth,  waiting  for  the 
word. 

"Go  down  and  see  whether  they 
have  taken  up  the  hurdles,"  he  said  to 
Craig,  by  way  of  getting  him  out  of  the 
way  at  the  start. 

"  Sober,  he  's  all  right,"  he  reflected ; 
"  but  drunk,  he  might  blab." 

"Come  on!"  he  called  to  the  boys; 


Djalma 

and  they  broke  away  at  a  furious  clip ; 
the  delay  had  put  the  game  little  ponies 
on  their  mettle,  and  as  they  rushed  by 
him  Djalma  was  fighting  for  his  head. 

"God!  I  never  saw  such  a  mover 
in  my  life  !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  he  watched 
the  gray  disappear  into  the  uncertain 
moonlight  and  mist. 

Just  then  Craig  came  rushing  back, 
his  alcoholic  breath  almost  emitting  a 
sulphurous  flame. 

"Grant  will  break  his  cursed  neck 
sure,  Captain !  and  the  station  will  be 
well  rid  of  him.  But  God  help  his 
mate,  whoever  he  is,  for  there  is  a  hurdle 
up  on  the  bottom,  and  they  will  never 
see  it  till  it  breaks  their  ponies'  legs." 

"  My  God !  why  did  you  not  take  it 
down,  man  ?  " 

"  Not  me !  I  'm  even  with  Grant 
now.  I  asked  him  to  give  me  some 
work  the  other  day  and  he  threatened 
136 


Djalma 

to  put  me  in  the  thanna  as  a  vag.  Be 
sides,  he  put  Hashim  up  to  pull  your 
pony  last  year,  Captain.  I  know  that, 
though  I  can't  pro- — 

The  words  choked  in  his  throat  as  a 
crashing  noise  came  borne  over  the 
maidan  on  the  dead  night  air ;  but  above 
the  crash  came  an  agonized  cry  as 
though  a  spear  had  been  driven  home 
in  a  righting  boar. 

"  Damn  you  !  you  've  murdered  some 
one ! "  Lushton  yelled  at  Craig,  as  he 
rushed  past  him  in  the  direction  of  the 
cry.  As  he  hurried  along,  the  figure  of 
a  horse  loomed  up  in  the  ghostly  moon 
lit  mist;  somebody  was  in  the  saddle, 
and  a  man  was  running  alongside,  with 
his  hand  on  the  stirrup  to  keep  up  his 
pace.  It  was  Learoyd  running  beside 
Donald  on  Silver  King. 

"  I  'm  afraid  Dick  's  killed,  sir,"  said 
Donald ;  "  there  was  a  hurdle  up  and 


Djalma 

my  mount  went  right  through  it,  but 
Dick's  pony  shied  and  went  over  the 
rope." 

Now  they  could  see  something  on  the 
ground  ahead  of  them. 

Lushton  pressed  forward  to  where  he 
could  make  out  the  figure  lying  so  still. 
"  Great  God !  what  fiend's  work  is 
this'^"  he  exclaimed;  "there  are  two 
men  lying  dead  within  an  arm's  length 
of  each  other ! " 

Then  he  knelt  down  beside  the 
smaller  figure  and  put  his  hand  over 
the  heart.  How  cold  and  ghastly  the 
poor  pinched  face  looked,  upturned  to 
the  moonlight,  with  just  a  tiny  stream 
of  blood  running  from  the  comers  of 
the  mouth ! 

"  It  's  Dick,  poor  old  man !  I  'm 
afraid  he  's  done  for —  Here,  Craig! 
have  n't  you  got  a  bottle  of  whisky 
anywhere  *? " 

138 


Djalma 

"  Wait !  "  said  Craig,  and  disappeared 
on  the  run. 

"  I  can't  make  out  who  the  other  is," 
said  Learoyd.  "  He  's  stone  dead,  and 
his  face  is  smashed  beyond  the  telling 
of  it.  The  horse  has  galloped  square 
on  top  of  him  with  his  iron  hoofs;  but 
the  queerest  part  of  it  is  that  he  is 
dressed.  He  must  have  been  at  the  hop." 

When  Craig  brought  the  whisky  they 
found  that  Dick  was  not  dead;  a  little 
poured  down  his  throat  started  the  silent 
machinery  again.  They  soon  had  him 
sitting  up  in  a  dazed,  helpless  sort  of 
way,  muttering  incoherently  about  go 
ing  to  ride  a  trial.  But  the  other  —  the 
man  with  the  face  battered  almost  be 
yond  all  resemblance  to  humanity - 
had  given  no  sign. 

The  whisky  poured  between  the 
crushed  lips  did  not  revive  him. 

"  I   think   I  can  feel  a  faint  move- 


Djalma 

ment,"  said  Learoyd,  after  holding  his 
hand  for  a  long  time  over  the  heart. 
"  By  Jove  !  it  's  a  deuced  queer  thing 
his  being  here.  I  suppose  we  had  better 
try  to  get  a  dhooly  sent  down  from  the 
hospital  for  him." 

"  Better  take  him  to  my  bungalow ; 
it  's  not  far  away.  Dick  has  pulled 
himself  together  enough  to  walk,  I 
fancy,  and  we  can  carry  this  poor  chap, 
whoever  he  is." 

So  they  started  with  that  limp  figure 
between  them. 

"I  wonder  where  Djalma  is*?  "said 
Learoyd.  "He  came  a  tremendous 
cropper;  the  posts  are  all  torn  up  for 
many  yards." 

"  Ramadine  is  off  after  him,"  answered 
Lushton.  "  He  does  n't  care  who  's 
killed  so  long  as  Djalma  is  all  right." 

When  Craig  had  gone  for  the   sur 
geon,  and   the   two   boys   had   gone  to 
their  hotel,  Learoyd  said  to  Lushton : 
140 


Djalma 

* 

"  Look  here,  old  man  !  we  shall  find 
that  this  wrecked  piece  of  humanity  is 
Grant.  I  took  down  all  those  hurdles, 
as  sure  as  shooting,  and  this  creature 
put  that  one  up  again.  All  the  same 
I  shall  mount  the  King,  and  ride  over 
for  the  doctor  myself;  he  's  a  crusty  old 
cuss,  and  may  not  turn  out  for  Craig. 
Mind,  when  he  comes,  we  had  no  trial! 
This  man,  whoever  he  is,  got  thrown  from 
his  horse  riding  home  from  the  dance." 

After  Learoyd  had  left,  Lushton  had 
time  to  reflect  over  the  extraordinary 
fate  which  had  delivered  over  to  him 
his  enemy  to  probably  nurse  back  to 
life, 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

Yes,  it  was  a  queer  fate. 

It  was  a  terrible  retribution. 

This  man  had  put  up  the  hurdle  to 
probably  murder  them,  and  he  had  been 
caught  in  his  own  trap. 
141 


CHAPTER  IV 

"HE  '11  pull  through,"  said  the  doctor ; 
"  but  he  '11  carry  a  terrible  scar.  The 
horse  has  planted  his  hoof  square  on  his 
face." 

Of  course  there  were  queer  tales  about 
the  accident.  That  was  one  of  Frya- 
bad's  industries  —  the  manufacturing  of 
queer  tales. 

That  he  had  been  trying  Kismet,  and 
that  the  pony  had  savaged  him,  was  the 
tale  that  found  the  best  market. 

Those  who  went  to  Lushton's  bun 
galow  came  away  as  they  had  gone. 
He  did  n't  know  anything  about  it. 
The  man  had  been  brought  to  his  bun- 
142 


Djalma 

galow  as  it  was  the  nearest  to  the  course. 
He  explained  that  it  was  against  the 
doctor's  orders  for  any  one  to  see  the 
patient. 

For  days  and  weeks  Grant  lay  hover 
ing  between  life  and  death.  Delirious 
all  the  time,  and  racing  always  —  nearly 
always;  and  when  not  appealing  to 
Hashim  to  "pull  the  beast,"  he  was 
talking  of  Ruth.  And  there  were 
threats  and  piteous  pleading  to  Hashim 
not  to  give  the  secret  away. 

But  Lushton  guarded  the  delirious 
man's  secret  as  jealously  as  though  he 
were  his  greatest  friend. 

"  Not  when  he  's  down,"  he  used  to 
say  to  Learoyd.  "  It  was  his  kismet 
that  he  should  be  given  into  my  hands 
—  not  that  I  wanted  the  beast,  good 
ness  knows !  " 

One  day  Fate  delivered  Hashim  into 
Lushton's  hand  also.  He  had  come  to 


Djalma 

get  some  orders  from  his  master,  if  he 
were  well  enough  to  give  them,  anent 
the  ponies. 

It  so  happened  that  the  fever  was  at 
its  best,  and  Grant  was  as  mad  as  a 
ghazi. 

But  this  suited  Lushton;  he  took 
Hashirn  into  the  sick  man's  room. 

Then  Hashim  listened  while  his 
master  and  partner  in  iniquity  spoke 
of  the  drug  they  were  to  give  Kismet. 
He  heard,  with  livid  face,  the  tor 
rent  of  threats  the  crazed  man  poured 
out.  He  was  fascinated  by  fear;  his 
gaze  was  riveted  upon  those  staring, 
lurid  eyes  which  burned  into  his  brain 
with  a  cobra-like  intensity. 

A  hard,  metallic  voice  roused  him. 
It  was  Lushton  speaking;  in  his  hand  he 
held  a  heavy  riding-whip. 

"Have  you  heard,  Soor*?  Come 
here,  son  of  the  devil ! "  And  a  hand, 
144 


Djalma 

heavy  as  the  paw  of  a  tiger,  dragged  him 
by  the  shoulder  out  into  the  compound. 

Yes,  he  yelled  a  good  deal ;  but  that 
did  him  no  good. 

"  That  is  one  party  paid  off,"  mut 
tered  Lushton,  throwing  the  whip  down 
in  disgust,  as  he  came  into  the  bungalow 
again.  "  The  other  —  God  knows!  I 
suppose  I  must  go  on  nursing  him  un 
til  I  can  turn  him  out.  I  suppose  I  'm 
no  end  of  a  fool ;  but  I  'm  damned  if  I 
can  send  him  up  to  the  hospital  while 
he  's  that  way." 

The  Collector  was  huffy  because 
Lushton  would  not  let  him  see  Grant. 

"  Deuced  queer  when  a  man  can't 
see  his  own  people,"  he  said.  "  When 
Lushton  's  not  there  his  big  orderly 
bars  the  door  and  simply  says,  '  Sahib's 
hookem.'  Hang  the  Sahib's  orders! 
Grant  's  not  in  the  force  —  he  's  my 
man." 


Djalma 

Lushton  put  a  servant  on  guard  who 
spoke  no  English,  and  the  orders  for 
the  others  were  to  keep  out  of  the  room. 

They  would  keep  out,  too  ! 

Servants  did  n't  disobey  Lushton  of 
ten —  when  they  did  it  was  their  bad 
fortune. 

"  He  can  be  moved  to  his  own  bun 
galow  now,"  said  the  surgeon ;  "  move 
him  in  the  cool  of  the  morning." 

That  was  after  he  had  lain  four  weeks 
—  four  weeks  nursed  by  his  enemy. 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

Lushton  kept  out  of  the  way  the 
next  morning.  He  had  nursed  the  man 
and  guarded  his  black  secret,  because 
he  had  been  cast  at  his  feet  like  a 
trampled  rat ;  but  he  would  not  take 
his  hand  at  the  parting  and  wish  him 
God-speed.  He  had  rather  take  a  cobra 
in  his  hand. 

146 


Djalma 

When  Ruth  saw  Grant  she  shud 
dered.  The  hoof-mark  that  she  had 
fancied  she  could  see  on  his  face  before 
had  become  a  reality. 

Late  in  January  Lushton  took  Djalma 
up  to  Lucknow  for  the  big  event. 
They  had  asked  him  "the  question" 
along  with  Silver  King,  and  he  had 
answered  it  in  a  way  which  made  their 
hearts  sing.  That  was  when  Grant  was 
on  his  back  and  Hashim  too  badly 
frightened  by  his  interview  with  Lush- 
ton  to  be  much  in  the  way. 

It  would  not  take  much  money  to 
win  all  he  should  need,  for  it  would  be 
long  odds  against  his  entry,  he  knew. 

It  would  be  straight  this  time,  too, 
for  Dick  Rich  was  to  ride  him. 

In  Lucknow  the  iyth  Lancers  were 
on  Blitz,  the  previous  year's  winner,  to  a 
man.  And  when  the  lotteries  were  on, 
and  the  ivories  clicked,  and  the  hawk- 


Djalma 

featured  auctioneer  bawled  himself 
hoarse  in  selling  the  ponies'  chances  for 
the  Cup  night  after  night,  it  was  all 
Blitz,  Bob,  or  Shere  Ali ;  hardly  a 
mention  of  Djalma  as  he  was  knocked 
down  quickly  to  some  one  who  was 
always  buying  him  for  a  song. 

For  two  nights  the  lotteries  were  held 
on  the  races  —  particularly  on  the  Civil 
Service  Cup.  Lushton  sat  in  the  same 
seat  at  the  long  table  both  evenings; 
both  evenings  a  stranger  to  him  sat  on 
his  left,  and  continually  toyed  with  a 
single  die.  Sometimes  he  hummed  a 
few  lines  of  something;  Lushton  could 
only  hear  the  last  line : 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

Once  he  leaned  over  toward  Lushton 
and  said,  "  threes  are  yours,  fours  are 
mine." 

As  the  die  rolled  over  it  showed  an  ace. 
148 


Djalma 

"Djalma  for  sale  and  two  thousand 
rupees  in  the  pool,"  bawled  the  secre 
tary.  Lushton  bought  him  for  twenty 
rupees. 

"  You  won  the  throw  and  bought 
that  pony,"  said  the  stranger.  "  Your 
luck  's  in  —  you  '11  win  the  prize,"  and 
he  smiled  at  Lushton  —  a  devilish  kind 
smile  it  was,  too,  Lushton  thought. 

When  a  man  drew  Djalma  in  the 
lottery  he  cursed  his  luck;  when  Lush- 
ton  bought  him  each  time  for  twenty 
rupees  he  blessed  his  patron  saint;  and 
all  the  time  the  other,  with  the  single 
die,  sat  with  a  sinister  leer  on  his  pale 
face. 

The  day  before  the  race  Learoyd  came 
up.  Together  the  two  friends  went 
down  to  see  Djalma  bedded  for  the 
night. 

"  Huzoor !  "  began  Ramadine,  as  he 
ran  the  muscle  side  of  his  forearm  up 
149 


Djalma 

and  down  Djalma's  ribs  in  the  final  rub- 
down  for  the  night  —  "Huzoor,  has  the 
Sahib  ever  seen  such  legs  on  a  pony*? 
Like  the  legs  of  a  leaping  cheetah  are 
the  legs  of  Ramadine's  brother,  Djalma. 
Ramadine's  heart  pains  with  joy,  for 
Djalma  will  run  strong  —  so  swift  and 
strong  that  the  other  horses'  livers  will 
turn  to  water.  The  Sahib  will  not  for 
get  Ramadine's  hundred  rupees  which 
he  has  placed  in  the  Sahib's  hands  to 
stake  on  Djalma.  Of  a  surety  will 
Ramadine  go  home  to  his  mulk,  and 
with  the  gain  from  Djalma's  running 
take  the  piece  of  land  which  was  his 
father's.  See,  Sahib,  there,  close  to 
Ramadine's  hand,  are  the  hens  which 
yield  the  fresh  eggs  which  Djalma  eats 
raw  every  morning.  Of  a  surety  is  his 
wind  good  for  ten  kos."  And  as  Rama- 
dine  pinched  the  mighty  little  horse's 
ribs  in  play,  Djalma  lashed  out  his  great 


Djalma 

sinewy  legs  until  the  two  friends  jumped 
back  in  consternation.  Ramadine  threw 
his  arms  around  the  pony's  neck  lov 
ingly,  and  chuckled  softly  to  himself. 
He  was  only  showing  the  Sahibs  that 
those  powerful  limbs  were  as  supple  as 
silk. 

"  No  danger  of  a  drug  this  time,  I 
fancy,"  said  Learoyd,  as  they  walked 
back  to  their  quarters. 

"No,"  answered  Lushton;  "Rama- 
dine  sleeps  in  the  stall,  and  nobody  will 
get  at  him  unless  they  kill  the  old  chap 
first.  Somebody  's  backing  Kismet,"  he 
added;  "Grant,  I  suppose;  but  we  're 
a  stone  better  than  him,  anyway." 

"  Miss  Stevens  is  up  for  the  meet," 
said  Learoyd ;  "  her  father  put  her  in 
my  charge  coming  up.  She  told  me 
point  blank  that  she  was  coming  up  to 
see  Djalma  win  the  Cup." 


CHAPTER   V 

ON  the  second  day  of  the  meet  twenty- 
four  glorious  little  horses  paraded  be 
fore  the  Grand  Stand  ere  they  went  out 
to  do  battle  for  the  greatest  race  of  the 
year,  the  Civil  Service  Cup  —  the  blue 
ribbon  of  the  pony  kingdom.  From 
almost  all  quarters  of  the  globe  they 
hailed  —  English,  Australian,  Arabian, 
and  Indian  born,  or  "  Country  Breds," 
as  they  were  called.  The  whole  world 
had  sent  its  fastest  ponies  there  to  battle 
for  the  prize. 

A  mighty  cheer  went  up  as  Blitz 
passed  with  the  stately  grace  of  a  fawn ; 
his  satin  skin  of  pink  shone  through 


Djalma 

the  silver-white  of  his  silky  coat,  giving 
it  a  faint  rose  tint,  and  as  he  walked  his 
long  tail  swept  the  ground.  He  was  a 
dream  of  equine  beauty;  generations  of 
the  purest  desert  blood  had  contributed 
beauty  and  courage  and  speed  in  this 
lion-hearted  Arab. 

As  the  roar  of  applause  reached  his 
delicate,  pointed  ears,  he  turned  his 
great  honest  eyes  toward  the  stand  as 
though  he  would  acknowledge  the 
greeting.  Twice  before  had  he  won 
the  Cup,  and  the  nine  stone  ten  which 
he  carried  that  day  would  not  stop  him, 
his  friends  said. 

The  others  were  pretty  well  known, 
too:  Bob,  the  Australian,  Lord  Wil 
liam's  horse — almost  as  game  as  his 
master;  Ram  Presad,  "  the  gift  of  God  "; 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  twenty  ponies 
which  passed  down  the  course  ahead  of 
Djalma. 

'53 


Djalma 

"  That  's  the  horse  Lushton,  of  the 
Fryabad  contingent,  brought  up,  and  is 
backing  to  win,"  said  a  voice  in  the 
stand. 

"Yes,  that  's  what  he  did  with  Kis 
met  last  year,  and  wound  up  in  the 
mulligatawny,"  answered  another. 

The  owner  of  the  first  voice  turned 
his  face  around  to  see  the  odds  marked 
on  the  book-makers'  boards  over  in  the 
inclosure  behind  the  stand.  It  was  a 
racy,  hard  face,  with  a  drooping,  blond 
mustache. 

"  I  '11  take  two  to  one  that  Lushton 
has  to  send  in  his  papers  after  his  pony 
fails  to  win  the  Cup,"  he  drawled  in  a 
lazy,  nasal  tone,  looking  at  the  second 
speaker. 

"  He  won't  be  the  first  to  do  that," 
said  the  other,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh. 
"  You  know  how  that  is  yourself,  I 
fancy." 


Djalma 

Then  a  strident  voice  came  riding 
over  the  babel  of  small  chatter,  yelling 
the  odds :  "  Twenty-five  to  one  out 
siders  !  "  the  voice  said.  "  Fifty  to  one !" 
was  the  next  call. 

"Yes,  and  that  's  just  what  makes 
fellows  with  dough  heads  send  in  their 
papers — those  damned  alluring  long 
odds,"  sneered  the  blond  mustache ; 
"  that  's  just  what  put  Valentyne  over 
there  by  the  steps  in  hock  two  years 
ago, — long  odds, — he  and  Fergus,  who 
went  on  his  paper.  I  'm  going  down  to 
back  the  favorite,  now  that  they  've  gone 
down  to  the  post,  and  there's  no  eleventh- 
hour  change  — no  dark  horse  unmasked." 

And  he  went,  burning  up  much  money 
that  was  lawful  of  the  realm. 

He  had  to  elbow  his  way  in  to  get 
his  money  on  ;  and  he  was  working  like 
a  mole  to  get  out  of  the  shoving,  surg 
ing  crowd,  when  he  saw  something 

155 


Djalma 

which  made  hirn  pause.  He  saw  Lush- 
ton  and  Learoyd  together,  note-book  in 
hand,  having  what  he  had  called  an 
eleventh-hour  plunge  on  Djalma. 

A  tall,  cadaverous-looking  bookie 
was  saying  to  Lushton  :  "  Captain,  you 
must  get  back  some  of  that  stuff  you 
left  with  me  last  year.  Let  me  lay  you 
the  whole  of  my  book  about  your  pony. 
I  have  n't  written  his  name  yet  —  not 
once,  sir,  may  I  be  jiggered  if  I  have. 
Twenty-five  to  one  is  the  limit  out 
siders,  or  I  'd  lay  you  a  hundred,  I 
would  --  honest.  Twenty-five  to  a 
hundred  I  '11  lay  you  five  times  over." 

Lushton  nodded,  and  the  bookie 
whispered  to  his  clerk  standing  behind 
him. 

"  Now  I  '11  lay  you  again,  the  same." 
It  was  good  business  this,  this  getting 
of  good  money  in  on  a  "  dead  one,"  as  he 
classed  Djalma. 

156 


Djalma 

"  I  '11  take  the  bet,"  said  Learoyd ; 
"  twenty-five  hundred  to  one,  five  times 
over." 

"  It  's  booked,  sir." 

The  two  moved  off  to  the  next  book 
maker. 

"  Deuced  queer  !  "  muttered  the  blond 
mustache.  "  They  seem  cock-sure 
about  this  thing.  They  must  have  got 
a  pretty  good  line  on  the  pony  some 
how  or  another.  Damned  if  I  don't 
have  a  bit  of  that  twenty-five  to  one 
myself." 

"  Come  on  now,  old  man,"  said  Lea 
royd  to  Lushton  ;  "  we  've  got  these  fel 
lows  pretty  well  salted  if  the  thing 
comes  off.  We  had  better  go  down  to 
the  far  end  of  the  stand  where  we  can 
get  a  good  view  of  the  ponies.  There  's 
Miss  Ruth  sitting  there  in  the  front 
row,"  he  exclaimed,  as  they  passed  her. 

Yes,  Ruth  was  there.     She  had  been 


Djalma 

there  when  the  ponies  passed  on  their 
way  to  the  post.  Her  heart  had  given 
a  little  cry  of  delight  when  Djalma  had 
swung  by  in  that  easy,  powerful  canter 
she  knew  so  well.  How  fit  he  was  look 
ing;  like  whip-cord  were  the  muscles 
showing  all  over  his  body.  Down  the 
long  quarters  "  the  water-line "  ran, 
showing  that  all  the  fat  had  been  worked 
off.  Well  she  knew  that  he  would 
battle  for  the  man  she  loved  until  his 
stout  heart  would  break.  She  felt  like 
rushing  down  to  him  and  giving  him  a 
reassuring  caress ;  but  pshaw  !  he  needed 
not  that  —  neither  that,  nor  whip,  nor 
spur;  nothing  but  the  guidance  which 
he  would  get  from  the  small  figure  sit 
ting  like  part  of  the  whole  machine  on 
his  back. 

But  now  that  they  were  down  at  the 
starting-post,  her  heart  was  thumping, 
and  the  queer  choking  which  comes 

158 


Djalma 

from  over-excitement  was  in  her  throat. 
Away  down  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
three-quarters,  where  the  starters'  flags, 
one  white  and  one  red,  were  fluttering 
in  the  breeze,  the  many-colored  jackets 
of  the  jockeys  were  flitting  in  and  out, 
in  and  out,  like  the  bits  of  colored  glass 
in  a  kaleidoscope.  It  was  confusing. 

Ruth  took  up  her  glass  and  looked 
long  and  earnestly  for  the  red  jacket 
with  white  sash  which  were  Djalma's 
colors.  Ah  !  there  they  were.  "  He  is 
standing  quietly  by  the  post  like  the 
gentleman  that  he  is,"  she  whispered  to 
herself.  Surely  his  cool  courage  would 
stand  him  in  good  stead  in  that  big  field. 

"  They  're  off!  "  a  dozen  voices  yelled 
at  once,  as  the  intricate  mass  of  blue 
and  red  and  yellow  was  seen  to  bunch 
up  and  move  toward  them,  with  just  one 
or  two  colors  stringing  out  behind  like 
the  tail  of  a  comet. 

'59 


Djalma 

"  A  false  start !  "  some  one  said ;  and 
it  was  seen  that  one  or  two  ponies  were 
standing  quite  motionless  at  the  start. 
The  red  flag,  the  one  which  was  nearest 
the  stand,  had  not  gone  down. 

The  ponies  went  back  again.  Once, 
twice,  a  dozen  times,  this  was  repeated. 

"  It  's  that  devil  Hashim,"  said  Lea- 
royd,  as  he  lowered  his  glasses  for  a 
minute.  "  He  's  breaking  away  in 
front  every  time ;  he  's  using  his  pony 
up,  though,  and  I  can't  make  out  what 
he  's  up  to.  Djalma  's  as  steady  as  the 
old  Colonel's  charger  on  parade." 

Lushton  was  sitting  down,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  slender  girlish  figure 
leaning  over  the  rail. 

"  They  're  off!  A  beautiful  start !  " 
called  down  Learoyd  to  him.  "Djal 
ma  's  well  away,  and  going  great  guns. 
Dick  is  sitting  as  still  as  a  wooden  god. 
The  pace  is  a  cracker,  too,  for  Hashim 
160 


Djalma 

is  making  the  running  as  though  it 
were  a  quarter-mile  dash.  Some  of 
them  are  out  of  it  already  —  can't  live 
the  pace.  More  of  them  will  crack  up, 
too,  at  that  rate  of  going  — 

"  Great  God ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
passionate  outbreak  that  made  Lushton 
jump.  "  That  fiend  Hashim  has  pulled 
right  across  Djalma  and  fouled  —  take 
that,  damn  you ! "  he  hissed  through 
his  clenched  teeth.  "Dick  has  given 
him  the  whip  right  across  the  face,  and 
there  's  the  devil  of  a  jumble  on.  All 
right,  old  man ! "  he  added,  the  next 
instant.  "  Dick  and  Djalma  have  gotten 
through  their  horses  and  are  coming 
away.  They  're  leading;  and  I  think 
Hashim  and  Kismet  are  down.  Good 
boy,  Dick  !  The  best  diamond  I  can 
buy  is  none  too  good  for  you  if  you 
win  this.  I  '11  give  Hashim  something, 
too!  "  he  muttered. 

161 


Djalma 

Ruth  had  seen  the  scarlet  and  white 
in  the  lead  just  after  the  start ;  then 
something  white  had  shot  across,  and 
blotted  out  the  scarlet,  a  hopeless  mix 
ing  of  the  colors,  and  then  the  jacket 
she  was  watching  for  had  shot  out  in 
front  and  she  was  happy.  Good  old 
Djalma  was  coming  with  that  powerful 
stride  of  his,  and  behind  him  whips 
and  arms  were  sawing  the  air,  and 
heads  were  bobbing  up  and  down  past 
stooped  shoulders,  as  the  riders  urged 
on  their  mounts  behind  that  scarlet 
figure  sitting  so  still  in  front  of  them. 

On  they  came,  the  scarlet  still  in 
front.  They  were  near  now,  and  the 
stand  could  make  out  the  leaders. 

"  The  favorite  's  beaten  !  Djalma 
wins !  'Rah  for  the  outsider !  "  went 
up  from  every  side. 

They  were  almost  up  to  the  stand 
now,  and  Ruth  could  see  a  little  bay 
162 


Djalma 

pony  creeping  up  from  among  the 
others.  It  was  Nina,  and  her  jockey 
was  riding  her  to  overtake  that  scarlet 
jacket  in  front;  riding  her,  and  nursing 
her  with  hands  and  feet,  but  no  touch 
of  the  whip  —  that  was  for  the  final 
rush  home,  when  he  had  stolen  up 
alongside  the  leader.  Dick  seemed 
unaware  of  anything  near  him ;  he  sat 
like  a  graven  image,  so  still  was  he  — 
so  sure  of  victory. 

"  He  's  winning  hands  down,"  said 
Learoyd. 

But  the  little  bay  mare :  her  nose 
was  already  on  the  leader's  flank.  Inch 
by  inch  she  was  gaining;  and  look! 
there  was  Blitz  coming  like  a  sand 
storm  on  his  own  native  desert;  his 
nose  was  on  the  mare's  quarters,  now 
he  was  at  her  girth,  and  she  always 
creeping  up  on  the  other,  on  Djalma. 
Surely  Dick  was  taking  too  great  a 
'63 


Djalma 

chance.  How  white  and  set  his  face 
was  !  Why  did  he  not  urge  his  mount ! 
Had  he  sold  the  race  *?  All  the  noise 
had  died  out  now;  all  the  babel 
of  voices  was  still;  men  held  their 
breath  and  waited  —  almost  held  their 
hearts  still  as  they  watched  the  struggle 
before  them.  All  eyes  were  riveted  on 
the  pale,  set  face  of  the  boy  on  Djalma. 
The  misery  and  despair  written  there 
told  those  who  understood  these  things 
that  there  was  something  wrong,  and 
that  he  was  riding  for  his  life. 

In  the  stand  the  white  heat  of  silent 
frenzy  had  settled  over  the  mob;  no 
one  spoke,  no  one  moved. 

Over  the  paddock  rail  a  swarthy  face 
was  thrust,  and  a  pair  of  baleful,  gleam 
ing  eyes,  full  of  menace,  were  watching 
Djalma's  rider.  "Ah,  little  brother," 
Ramadine  was  saying  to  himself,  for 
it  was  he,  "  if  you  let  those  sons  of  pigs 
164 


Djalma 

beat  my  Djalma,  you  will  ride  no  more. 
You  will  ride  fast  and  alone  over  the 
dark  river  to-night." 

Ruth  had  pulled  down  her  veil. 
Tears  on  a  race-course  were  not  good 
form,  but  tears  they  were  —  hot,  scald 
ing  tears ;  for  had  she  not  prayed  that 
Djalma  might  win  ?  Yes,  even  prayed 
that  he  might;  there  was  no  harm  in 
that.  Her  nails  were  driven  tight  into 
the  palms  of  her  hands.  It  was  all  over 
now.  As  they  flashed  by  her,  a  dozen 
feet  from  the  finish,  she  had  seen  that 
Blitz  was  winning.  Then  the  pent-up 
excitement  burst  forth;  there  was  a 
mighty  cheer  for  Blitz,  and  the  hurry 
ing  of  hundreds  of  feet  down  the  stone 
steps  to  the  inclosure.  People  were 
saying  that  the  favorite  had  won  ;  even 
he  was  saying  it  —  she  could  hear  his 
voice  just  behind  her.  "  I  suppose  the 
poor  boy  was  tired  out,"  he  was  saying. 

'65 


Djalma 

"  I  'm  in  *  queer  street '  now,  right 
enough;  but  I  don't  blame  the  boy  for 
it  —  he  's  too  honest  for  that.  Why  in 
thunder  are  they  so  long  in  putting  the 
numbers  up,  though  *? 

"  Hello  !  By  jingo  !  Look  at  your 
card,  Learoyd !  That  is  our  number 
they  've  put  up.  Seventeen  they  've 
hoisted,  and  seventeen  we  are  on  the 
card.  There  go  the  other  numbers  — 
four,  nine  !  Seventeen,  four,  nine ; 
that  reads,  Djalma,  Blitz,  Nina." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  the  other  man  was 
saying  as  they  passed  out  of  ear-shot. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it  now. 
It  had  taken  the  judges  a  minute  to  de 
cide  over  the  second  and  third  places, 
for  the  finish  had  been  a  desperate  one. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  Djalma  being 
first,  for  he  had  kept  that  velvety  noz 
zle  in  front  with  a  bull-dog  tenacity. 
The  mistake  of  the  Grand  Stand  had 
166 


Djalma 

been  one  of  angles.  As  they  had  passed 
the  stand  the  outside  horses  had  ap 
peared  to  shoot  ahead. 

It  was  a  dead-lame  horse  that  Lush- 
ton  led  up  to  the  weighing-scales.  That 
was  why  Dick  had  sat  so  still  —  that 
was  why  Djalma  had  only  just  managed 
to  keep  his  nose  in  front. 

"  I  got  mixed  up  in  the  scrimmage," 
said  Dick,  "  and  Kismet  struck  Djalma 
on  the  shoulder,  knocking  him  out  of 
his  stride.  But  Djalma  was  too  strong, 
and  galloped  over  him.  When  we  got 
settled  down  again  I  could  feel  my 
mount  hitching  a  little,  and  I  knew 
that  he  had  wrenched  one  of  his  legs. 
When  they  commenced  to  creep  up  on 
me  I  tried  to  shake  him  up  a  little,  but 
I  only  threw  him  out.  Then  I  sat 
tight,  and  I  knew  that  my  face  got 
white,  for  I  was  in  hell  for  half  a  mile. 
It  seemed  a  thousand  years,  sir. 
167 


Djalma 

"  But  he  's  the  gamest  bit  of  horse-flesh 
that  ever  locked  through  a  bridle.  My 
word  !  when  Vinall  got  at  his  throat- 
latch  with  Blitz,  I  felt  him  struggle  a 
little  under  me,  and  then  we  drew  away 
a  little;  only  a  little — just  a  short 
head ;  and  there  we  stayed,  and  I  knew 
that  he  would  drop  dead  or  keep  that 
nose  in  front." 

"  We  're  all  well  out  of  it,  Dick ;  and 
you  '11  be  glad  you  rode  him  when  it 
comes  to  settling." 

"  They  '11  have  me  up  before  the 
stewards  for  cutting  Hashim  across  the 
face,  I  'm  afraid,  sir." 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  that,  Dick ;  Lea- 
royd  saw  him  foul  you,  and  will  clear 
you  with  the  stewards." 

The  flanks  were  heaving,  and  little 
tremors  were  running  all  over  the  wet, 
satin  skin  of  Djalma,  as  he  stood  balan 
cing  himself  on  three  legs  in  front  of 
1 68 


Djalma 

the  weighing-room,  with  just  the  toe  of 
his  off-fore  touching  the  ground. 

A  girlish  figure  slipped  quietly  up  to 
him,  and  taking  his  wet,  drooping  head 
in  her  tiny  gloved  hands,  kissed  him  on 
his  velvety  nose,  all  unmindful  of  the 
grime  and  the  foam  crystallized  there 
by  the  race-course  dust. 

Djalma  answered  with  a  whinny  of 
delight. 

"Are  you  crowning  him  with  better 
than  laurel,  Miss  Stevens  —  crowning 
him  with  love  ? "  she  heard  a  strong 
voice  say. 

She  did  not  look  up.  She  knew  who 
it  was  carrying  the  saddle-  and  weight- 
cloths  from  the  scale. 

"  I  am  petting  him  for  his  grand 
race,  and  pitying  him  for  his  poor,  in 
jured  limb,"  she  replied,  still  holding 
the  great  wet  head  in  her  arms.  "  I 
have  a  great  favor  to  ask,  now  that 
169 


Djalma 

you  are  in  the  generous  mood  of  victory. 
Will  you  sell  Djalma  back  to  me  to  take 
care  of,  for  he  is  broken  down,  and  too 
lame  to  race  again  ?  " 

"I  will  speak  to  Learoyd  about  it; 
and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  glad  to  let 
you  have  him.  You  know  we  never 
should  have  had  him  if  it  had  not  been 
for  you." 


170 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  I  CAN  see  only  one  way  to  fix  it 
up,"  said  Learoyd,  when  Lushton  spoke 
to  him  about  it. 

"  She  can't  look  after  a  lame  pony; 
and  you  would  not  care  to  leave  him  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  a  syce.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  old  man,  there  is  only  one 
way  out  of  the  difficulty."  And  he  closed 
one  eye  and  looked  solemnly  at  hisfriend. 

Before  Lushton  had  time  to  knock 
his  friend  down,  a  man  passed  humming 
a  bar  of  a  doggerel  ditty. 

He  turned  and  nodded  pleasantly  to 
Lushton.  It  was  the  man  who  had  sat 
next  him  that  night  at  the  lottery. 

"  Your  friend  is  right,"  he  said,  show- 
171 


Djalma 

ing  his  even  white  teeth  in  a  smile. 
As  he  passed  on  the  last  line  of  his 
ditty  came  floating  lazily  back  to  the 
two  standing  there  : 

Thus  I  twirl  and  spin  the  die. 

What  more  is  there  to  say?  Nor  love, 
nor  money,  would  buy  Djalma  now. 
There  is  no  lack  of  either  of  these 
cheerful  commodities  in  the  white  bun 
galow  gleaming  through  the  trees  of 
the  mango  tope,  just  back  of  which 
the  gallant  pony  has  his  quarters. 

They  both,  Fred  and  Ruth, —  the 
same  Fred  being  the  Lushton  of  this 
tale, —  love  the  old  warrior  as  truly  as 
when  he  won  the  whole  world  for  them 
—  won  it  on  three  legs,  Fred  says. 

His  leg  has  got  all  right  again ;  but 
Ramadine  says  that  he  will  not  go  to 
his  own  mulk  until  Djalma  dies,  for  fear 
the  leg  would  need  his  care  again. 
172 


GOD  AND  THE  PAGAN 


GOD  AND  THE  PAGAN 

FATHER  LACOMBE  was  as  broad  on  the 
chest  as  a  buffalo  bull  is  deep.  That 
was  because  of  the  great  heart  that 
had  thumped  and  thumped  at  the  ribs, 
and  driven  them  far  out  to  make  room 
for  the  working.  Of  the  same  build 
was  the  great  dome-shaped  head,  and 
because  of  that  was  all  narrowness  not 
therein.  Broad  and  free  was  the  thought, 
and  strong  was  the  heart ;  therefore  was 
the  love  of  his  people,  the  copper-col 
ored  Crees,  great  and  enduring.  Even 
the  whites,  they  who  preached  from 
without  the  pale,  were  wont  to  forget 
all  else  but  that  Father  Lacombe  was 
human  —  intensely  human. 

"75 


God  and  the  Pagan 


So  when  John  Bernard,  the  Rev. 
John  Bernard,  came  to  Father  Lacombe 
with  his  heart's  sorrow  tugging  at  the 
tendrils  of  his  brain  until  it  was  numb, 
it  was  only  natural. 

"  Six  months  have  gone  by,  Father 
Lacombe,"  he  said,  "  and  they  have 
done  nothing.  No  one  has  seen  or 
heard  of  Ruth  Asquith  since  the  Black- 
foot  swept  our  post  from  the  face  of 
the  plain.  It  is  six  months  to-day  since 
Assiniboia  was  burned  and  Ruth  carried 
off,  and  we  are  no  nearer  her  rescue  now 
than  we  were." 

"She  is  alive,"  said  the  priest;  "the 
Blackfoot  do  not  war  on  women ;  they 
capture  them,  but  do  not  kill  them. 
Besides,  also,  I  have  heard  a  little. 
The  birds  which  fly  northward  have 
sung  to  me  that  she  is  there." 

"Now,  Father  Lacombe,"  said  John, 
"  you  alone  of  all  the  whites  can  go  far 
176 


God  and  the  Pagan 


out  among  the  people  of  this  land ; 
Cree  or  Blackfoot  you  pass  unharmed ; 
and  to  you  I  have  come  to  ask,  in  the 
name  of  humanity,  if  you  will  lift  this 
load  from  our  hearts,  will  find  for  us 
this  sister  who  labored  as  one  of  us  for 
the  good  of  these  poor  peoples." 

Thus  the  one  paid  tribute  to  the 
other.  Creed  stepped  to  one  side,  and 
man  spoke  to  man  in  his  trouble. 

Deeply  the  priest  pondered  for  a  lit 
tle,  and  then  f  he  spoke  again.  "  My 
time  is  not  my  own;  I  work  for  my 
Master,  and  I  can  but  go  where  many 
call." 

The  young  minister  interrupted  him 
with  a  pleading  gesture.  "  Many  hearts 
are  sad  because  of  Ruth's  fate.  It  is 
not  I  alone,  but  all  who  are  Christians 
ask  this  of  you." 

Father  Lacombe  held  up  his  hand 
as  though  he  would  stay  the  impatience 
177 


God  and  the  Pagan 


of  the  younger  man,  and  continued, 
his  dreamy  blue  eyes  looking  far  out 
across  the  shoreless  sea  of  buffalo  mea 
dow  toward  the  south. 

"  Where  many  call  me  I  go ;  and 
these  poor  people,  the  Blackfoot,  have 
been  calling  me  in  every  wind  that 
blows  up  from  across  their  lodges. 
Some  time  I  must  go  :  I  will  go  now," 
he  added  simply,  still  looking  across 
the  stretch  of  grass-land. 

When  Father  Lacombe  faced  about, 
the  dreamy  look  was  gone ;  the  blue 
eyes  were  grayer — gray  with  the  light 
of  resolve.  Two  days  later  he  was  on 
his  way  to  Mountain  House,  near  the 
foothills  of  the  Rockies,  with  "  Stony 
Jack  "  his  sole  companion.  Jack,  be 
ing  a  Stony  Indian,  might  also  go 
among  the  Blackfoot,  as  the  two  tribes 
were  allied.  Jack  believed  in  Father 
Lacombe  in  the  main,  and  the  Christian 
178 


God  and  the  Pagan 


religion  as  a  side  issue.  His  code  was 
very  simple  —  Father  Lacombe. 

At  Mountain  House,  as  the  priest 
anticipated,  they  found  a  party  of 
Blackfoot  warriors  trading  buffalo  pelts 
at  the  Hudson  Bay  Company's  post. 
A  few  presents  obtained  for  him  per 
mission  to  return  with  them  to  the 
Blackfoot  camping-grounds. 

But  before  they  started  there  were 
many  bacchanalian  days.  A  place 
where  for  a  single  buffalo  skin  one 
could  obtain  bottled  happiness  enough 
to  blot  out  the  memory  of  months  of 
cold  and  hunger  was  not  to  be  lightly 
left.  The  skins  were  so  easily  got,  too: 
a  tightly  drawn  cord,  a  twang,  and  with 
a  feathered  arrow  piercing  from  side  to 
side,  the  carrier  of  the  skin  lying  there 
in  the  dust  —  that  was  all.  Only  some 
times,  when  the  buffalo  were  scarce  and 
ammunition  plenty,  the  guns  spoke, 
179 


God  and  the  Pagan 


and  the  killing  was  speedier  and  more 
murderous.  They  had  many  skins,  and 
that  was  the  rate  —  a  soda-water  bottle 
full  of  the  liquid  fire  for  one  skin.  It 
took  days  to  trade  on  that  basis;  also 
when  they  started  out  was  the  commis 
sariat  light,  because  of  the  liquid  pay 
ments. 

An  Indian  will  share  his  food  with 
a  hungry  stranger  always;  with  equal 
avidity  will  he  share  the  stranger's  food 
when  he  is  hungry.  So,  at  the  end  of 
two  days,  Father  Lacombe's  provisions 
were  being  carried  jauntily  along  in 
twenty  Blackfoot  stomachs.  After  that 
came  the  hunger,  for  the  buffalo  they 
had  confidently  expected  to  find  had 
wandered  afield.  For  three  days  they 
lived  on  the  remembrance  of  that  ec 
clesiastical  meal,  tracking  their  way  to 
the  south  and  east  over  the  snow  which 
was  steadily  falling. 
180 


God  and  the  Pagan 


"  It  is  because  of  the  little  pale-face 
medicine-man,"  said  Man-who-dreams ; 
"because  of  his  coming  with  the  forked 
tongue  have  the  buffalo  been  driven 
away  by  Manitou,  who  is  angry." 

Man-who-dreams  was  a  great  medi 
cine-man  among  the  Blackfoot ;  so  the 
braves  listened  and  grunted  approval. 
He  had  told  them  that  the  buffalo 
would  be  plentiful  where  they  were 
then,  and  now  no  buffalo  were  to  be 
seen.  Surely  Manitou  was  angry  with 
them  —  angry  because  they  had  taken 
among  them  the  prophet  of  the  pale 
faces'  God. 

On  the  fourth  day  one  of  two  things 
was  destined  to  happen,  though  the 
priest  did  not  quite  know  it :  either  the 
buffalo  would  be  encountered,  or  Father 
Lacombe's  mission  would  cease  on  that 
date.  Half  of  the  fourth  day  the  outfit 
dragged  slowly  its  snail-like  course  over 
181 


God  and  the   Pagan 


the  white  bosom  of  the  sky-kissed  plain. 
Eagerly  the  hunger-strained  eyes  scanned 
the  ever-rising  horizon  for  the  cluster 
of  little  brown  specks,  for  the  herd  of 
buffalo  their  medicine-man  had  prom 
ised  them. 

"  Manitou  is  surely  angry,"  Man- 
who-dreams  said,  as  they  "  spelled " 
with  nothing  to  eat,  "because  of  the 
forked-tongued  pale-face  we  have  taken 
to  tell  us  of  a  false  God.  If  we  destroy 
him  the  buffalo  will  come." 

Then  Father  Lacombe  knew,  for  this 
was  said  openly,  so  that  he  might 
hear. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  prayer,  perhaps  it 
was  only  chance ;  but  away  on  the  dis 
tant  snow  line  there  appeared  a  little 
jagged  edge  —  an  edge  that  vibrated 
like  dried  grass  stirred  by  the  wind. 
"  My  Master  has  not  forgotten  me," 
murmured  the  priest,  and  he  pointed 
182 


God  and  the  Pagan 


toward  the  spot  that  was  now  a  little 
darker. 

Then  the  mad  racing,  and  the  spit 
ting  of  bullets  into  the  black  maw  of 
the  muzzle-loading  guns,  as  the  Indians 
loaded  while  they  galloped.  That  was 
their  primitive  breech-loader;  they  car 
ried  the  "  trade  balls  "  in  their  mouths, 
and  rammed  them  home  on  top  of  the 
powder  without  wad  or  paper.  And 
the  blazing  of  powder  so  close  that  it 
singed  the  brown,  curled  hair,  and 
the  twanging  of  bow-strings,  and  the 
rounded  brown  hummocks  that  meant 
a  buffalo  left  for  the  squaws  to  skin  ;  and 
after  that  the  feasting,  and  the  softening 
of  hearts,  and  respite  for  the  priest. 

And  the  Master  remembered  Father 
Lacombe  still  a  little  again;  or  was  it 
only  chance  that  Three  Bulls  cut  an 
artery  in  his  leg  with  his  hunting-knife"? 
Chance  or  the  other,  the  life  was  going 
'83 


God  and  the  Pagan 


fast  out  with  the  red  blood  spurting 
and  crimsoning  the  white  snow ;  going 
out  so  fast  that  Three  Bulls'  friends 
were  already  clamoring  for  him  to  di 
vide  his  worldly  goods  among  them 
before  it  was  too  late.  Surely  his  lodge 
in  the  Happy  Hunting-Ground  was 
standing  wide  open  to  receive  him ! 

Man-who-dreams  could  arrange  mat 
ters  with  Manitou,  but  he  could  not 
stem  that  crimson  tide.  Father  La- 
combe's  surgical  knowledge  was  great 

—  almost    as    great    as    his   spiritual. 
"  Through    their   bodies   I  reach  their 
souls,"  he  had  often  said  of  his  people ; 
and  now  he  brought  Three  Bulls  back 
from  the  foothills  of  the  Happy  Hunt 
ing-Ground,  and  made  him  whole  again 

—  closed  the  little    leak    in   the    dike. 
And  because  of  this  chance  were  the 
blue    eyes    more    hopeful,   and    many 
thorns  withdrawn  from  his  crown. 

184 


God  and  the  Pagan 


"  Ugh  !  the  pale-face  medicine-man 
is  good,"  grunted  Three  Bulls,  stoically. 

When  they  came  to  the  banks  of  the 
Bow  River,  where  the  smoke-tanned 
buffalo-skin  tepees  of  the  Blackfoot 
nestled  their  pyramid  shapes  in  hun 
dreds  on  the  russet  earth, —  for  the  snow 
had  not  traveled  so  far  south  yet, —  Fa 
ther  Lacombe  tarried  for  many  days. 
He  saw  that  Ruth  Asquith  was  not  there. 
While  he  labored  hopelessly,  bravely, 
for  some  spiritual  awakening  among 
the  Indians,  he  was  ever  listening, 
watching  for  news  of  the  white  captive. 
At  every  turn  he  was  thwarted  by  Man- 
who-drearns.  He  knew  that  what  Stony 
Jack  said  was  true :  that  Man-who- 
dreams  only  waited  a  chance  to  dis 
credit  him  and  have  him  driven  forth 
or  tied  to  the  stake.  But  that  made 
no  real  difference  to  Father  Lacombe ; 
all  his  life  it  had  been  that  way ;  it 

185 


God  and  the  Pagan 


made  his  work  more  difficult,  that 
was  all. 

Then  when  the  moon  was  full,  the 
crash  came.  The  deviltry  that  Man- 
who-dreams  had  been  hatching  sprang 
into  life.  The  moon  was  still  chiding 
the  laggard  winter's  sun  in  the  dull 
gray,  when  Man-who-dreams  mounted 
his  powerful  blue-roan  and  started  on 
his  crusade.  Round  and  round  the 
camp  swung  the  medicine-man  in  all  his 
barbaric  plumage,  his  deep,  bull  throat 
sending  forth  in  bellowing  tones  the 
summons  to  all  to  come  and  hear  the 
pale-face  prophet  speak  of  Manitou. 
The  blue-roan  swayed  and  rocked  in 
and  out  among  the  tepees,  his  saucer- 
wide  hoofs  pounding  the  hollow-sound 
ing  turf  until  it  echoed  like  the  roll  of 
drums. 

Roused  from  their  morning  slumbers, 
tall,  gaunt  Indians  streamed  from, their 
186 


God  and  the  Pagan 


lodges,  their  blanket  coats  lapping  at 
the  prairie  wind  like  the  tongues  of 
thirsty  dogs  beating  the  running  water. 
Squaws  and  children  and  dogs  all  hur 
ried  to  gather  in  front  of  the  tepee 
wherein  rested  Father  Lacombe.  Next 
to  the  running  of  buffalo,  the  baiting 
of  the  pale-face  priest  would  be  glori 
ous  sport. 

When  they  had  gathered,  the  blue- 
roan  was  led  away;  Man-who-dreams 
strode  forth  from  among  the  braves,  and 
stood  tall,  majestic,  an  imposing,  sinis 
ter  figure.  When  Father  Lacombe 
came  from  his  lodge  Man-who-dreams 
addressed  him  with  savage  courtesy. 
"  Will  the  pale-face  priest  speak  first 
of  Manitou ;  or  shall  Man-who-dreams 
speak  to  his  brothers,  and  after  the  pale 
face  has  heard,  will  he  answer*?" 

Wondering  what  trap  the  other  had 
laid  for  him,  Father  Lacombe  expressed 
187 


God  and  the  Pagan 


his  willingness  to  listen  to  the  words  of 
wisdom  that  might  fall  from  the  lips  of 
the  Blackfoot. 

Drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
so  that  he  towered  above  the  tallest  of 
the  warriors  there,  the  medicine-man 
began  his  address. 

"Brothers,  warriors,  Blackfoot,  ye 
who  have  driven  the  Crees  from  the 
face  of  the  buffalo  plains  until  they 
cower  and  hide  among  the  trees  beyond 
the  waters  of  the  Red  Deer,  have  ye 
now  come  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  this  pale 
face  prophet  who  speaks  with  the  forked 
tongue — he  who  is  the  friend  of  your 
enemies,  the  Crees,  who  come  in  the 
night  and  steal  your  horses  *?  He  says 
Manitou  has  sent  him  here  —  the  pale 
face  God,  the  Great  Spirit." 

He  turned  fiercely  toward  Father 
Lacombe,  his  black  eyes  flashing  with 
fanatic  fury,  and  asked:  "Have  you 
188 


God  and  the  Pagan 


seen  the  Great  Spirit  ?  Did  your  God 
speak  to  you  and  tell  you  to  come  here  *? 
Were  you  with  the  Great  Spirit,  or  did 
the  Great  Spirit  come  to  earth  and  speak 
to  you  ?  " 

The  priest  remained  silent,  and  Man- 
who-dreams  turned  again  to  his  war 
riors. 

"  See,  the  forked  tongue  is  still.  He 
cannot  answer  these  simple  questions. 
We  know  that  all  the  pale-faces  are 
liars,  that  their  tongue  is  forked,  that 
their  life  is  sin,  the  sin  from  which  our 
women  suffer;  that  they  have  brought 
no  good  to  us;  that  their  guns,  which 
speak  loud,  are  for  destruction ;  and 
their  fire-water  destroys  our  bodies,  and 
makes  our  hearts  bad. 

"  Is  it  their  Manitou  that  teaches 
them  this  —  gives  them  strength  to 
take  many  lives  with  their  loud-speak 
ing  guns,  and  make  the  fire-water  which 
189 


God  and  the  Pagan 


turns  us  to  beasts'?  Is  it  their  Great 
Spirit  who  teaches  them  to  sin  with  our 
women  until  our  hearts  call  for  revenge*? 
And  the  pale-face  prophet  who  is  sent 
here  by  their  Manitou  will  teach  us  these 
things.  Will  my  brothers  learn  to  wor 
ship  this  spirit,  who  is  the  spirit  of  the 
pale-face? 

"  Listen,  Blackfoot,  braves,  and  Man- 
who-dreams  will  tell  you  of  the  chief  of 
the  Kootenay,  White  Eagle.  The  pale 
face  medicine-man  spoke  to  him  with  a 
forked  tongue  until  he  forgot  the  Great 
Spirit  of  his  forefathers  ;  forgot  the 
Manitou  of  the  Indians,  and  became 
even  as  a  pale-face.  When  he  died  he 
journeyed  over  the  trail  which  leads  to 
the  Happy  Hunting-Ground.  Soon  he 
came  to  where  the  trail  forked,  and  he 
stopped  to  consider  which  was  the  path 
to  the  pale-face  Hunting-Ground.  He 
saw  his  white  brethren  going  to  the  right; 
190 


God  and  the  Pagan 


he  followed  that  trail.  When  he  came 
to  the  gates  —  for  it  was  closed  in  with 
a  great  stockade,  like  the  Company's 
fort  —  the  gate  opened  and  he  stepped 
in.  The  pale-faces  were  playing  on  the 
fiddles,  and  dancing  and  singing,  all  to 
gether,  men  and  women,  and  drinking 
the  fire-water,  and  doing  even  as  you 
have  seen  them  at  the  time  of  their 
great  gathering  when  the  winter  is  half 
gone.  And  beyond  was  their  Great 
Spirit,  their  Manitou,  sitting  on  a  seat 
that  was  of  gold,  even  the  yellow  iron 
that  they  dig  up  out  of  the  river  sands. 
"The  great  chief  stood  there,  and  no 
pale-face  said  to  him,  '  Come  here,  bro 
ther,  and  eat ' ;  and  his  heart  was  sad, 
for  he  saw  none  of  his  own  people  — 
all  the  faces  were  white.  Then  he 
stepped  in  among  them ;  and  one  white 
warrior  asked  him  why  he  came  there  — 
one  red  man  among  all  those  that  were 
191 


God  and  the  Pagan 


white.  He  answered,  *  I  am  your  bro 
ther,  and  the  prophet  of  your  Manitou 
was  sent  to  bring  me  here.' 

"  Then  they  laughed,  and  made  to 
drive  him  forth  with  curses ;  even  as 
you  have  been  driven  from  the  Com 
pany's  fort  when  your  skins  were  all 
gone.  'Oh,  Manitou,'  he  cried,  'pity 
me  !  When  I  was  among  mine  own 
people  the  medicine-man  you  sent  made 
me  give  up  the  Great  Spirit  of  my  tribe, 
and  I  worshiped  you.' 

"Then  the  God  of  the  pale-faces  spoke 
in  anger.  'Some  one  has  spoken  to  you 
with  a  forked  tongue.  I  sent  no  one  to 
your  people.  They  have  their  Happy 
Hunting-Ground,  and  their  own  Great 
Spirit ;  the  pale-face  people  are  my 
people.' 

"  Then  they  drove  him  forth  in  anger, 
and  he  stood  again  where  the  trail  forks. 
He  turned  to  the  left,  and  journeyed 
192 


God  and  the  Pagan 


along  until  the  smell  of  the  sweet-grass 
and  the  sage  smote  upon  his  nostrils, 
and  he  knew  that  he  was  coming  to  the 
Happy  Hunting-Ground  of  his  own 
people,  the  Indians. 

"  Like  the  noise  of  the  wings  of  the 
great  birds  that  make  the  thunder  was 
the  sound  of  the  hoofs  of  the  buffalo, 
that  were  even  as  the  sands  in  the  river, 
as  the  spirits  in  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Ground  ran  them  in  the  chase.  When 
he  had  come  a  little  way  into  the  plain 
which  is  the  Happy  Hunting-Ground, 
he  saw  the  buffalo  plentiful  as  the 
leaves  of  the  trees,  and  the  braves  were 
riding  horses  faster  than  the  gray- 
winged  birds  which  fly  over  our  heads 
when  the  summer  fades.  The  bows 
were  of  wood  that  gleamed  even  as  the 
gold  of  the  pale-face,  and  the  arrows 
were  darts  of  fire.  The  braves  pointed 
them  at  the  buffalo,  and  they  dropped 


God  and  the  Pagan 


as  they  ran.  Like  the  passing  of  the 
hand  through  the  air,  it  was  so  quickly 
done  the  knife  stripped  the  hide  from 
the  meat.  The  meat  needed  not  cook 
ing,  but  melted  in  the  mouth  like 
honey. 

"  But  no  one  spoke  to  the  Kootenay 
chief,  nor  said,  '  Come  and  eat,  brother'; 
and  he  was  hungry.  Then  he  spoke  to 
one  he  knew,  who  had  been  of  his  own 
tribe. 

"The  brave  said,  'Who  are  you^' 

"  '  I  am  White  Eagle,  chief  of  the 
Kootenay,'  he  answered. 

" '  Then  why  do  you  come  here  *? 
White  Eagle  has  listened  to  the  pale 
face  medicine-man,  and  must  go  to  their 
Happy  Hunting-Ground.' 

"  And  he  who  had  been  a  chief,  the 

chief  of  a  tribe  whose  children  are  as 

plentiful  as  the  birds  of  the  air,  stood 

alone   on   the  outside    of  the    Happy 

194 


God  and  the  Pagan 


Hunting-Ground  like  a  hungry  wolf 
hovering  near  a  camp  that  is  filled  with 
fresh  meat.  Then  he  fell  down  on  his 
face,  and  cried  to  the  Great  Spirit : 
*  Father,  I  am  of  your  people.  The 
false  prophet  spoke  to  me  with  lies, 
and  I  did  not  know.' 

"  The  heart  of  the  Great  Spirit,  which 
is  good,  went  out  a  little  toward  this 
desolate  man,  for  he  had  been  a  great 
warrior,  and  he  said :  '  I  will  give  you 
life  again.  You  may  go  back  to  your 
people,  the  Kootenay;  and  if  you  live 
as  your  forefathers  have  lived,  when  I 
call  you  again  your  lodge  will  be  pre 
pared  here.' 

"  Now,  brothers,"  continued  Man- 
who-dreams,  "  the  chief  of  the  Kootenay 
lives  among  his  people  beyond  the 
snow-covered  hills,  and  he  has  driven 
the  pale-face  prophet  forth  from  the 
lodges  of  his  tribe.  Will  you  be  like 

'95 


God  and  the  Pagan 


this,  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  pale 
face  who  says  that  God  has  sent  him 
here,  and  stand  like  hungry  wolves  on 
the  outside  of  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Ground  when  the  Great  Spirit  calls 
you  away  ?  " 

When  the  impassioned  voice  of  the 
speaker,  sonorous  as  the  cadence  of  a 
cataract,  died  away,  there  was  a  mo 
ment's  silence,  so  great  that  the  whis 
pering  of  the  wind  as  it  played  in  and 
out  among  the  warriors  grouped  about 
could  be  heard.  Then  a  murmuring 
sound  of  approving  grunts  issued  from 
their  deep  throats,  as  this  Seneca  of  the 
Blackfoot  stepped  to  one  side  to  make 
room  for  Father  Lacombe  to  answer. 

The  mighty  heart  of  the  good  priest 
faltered  for  once  in  its  many  years  of 
striving.  Never  before  had  he  heard 
such  eloquence  —  never  before  met  an 
Indian  whose  power  of  graphic  de- 
196 


God  and  the  Pagan 


scription  was  so  great.  The  Happy 
Hunting-Ground  and  the  white  man's 
heaven  were  living  pictures.  The  lan 
guage  and  the  gestures  of  this  high 
priest  of  paganism  had  brought  the 
whole  scene  so  close  to  the  understand 
ing  of  the  simple-minded  savages  that 
anything  Father  Lacombe  could  say 
now  would  be  unreal  and  visionary. 
Inwardly  he  prayed:  "O  God,  my 
Master,  help  me  now !  This  is  the  hour 
of  my  trial.  Help  me,  my  Master." 

A  still,  small  voice  seemed  to  whis 
per  :  "  Wait ;  have  patience  yet  a  little." 

He  stepped  forward,  and  facing  the 
throng  of  dark-browed  listeners,  and 
meeting  the  triumphant  eye  of  Man- 
who-dreams  with  a  calm,  steady  look, 
said :  "  I  cannot  answer  now.  Your 
words  of  eloquence  require  much  pon 
dering  over.  In  two  weeks  I  will  pre 
pare  my  answer." 

197 


God  and  the  Pagan 


A  derisive  shout  of  triumph  went  up 
from  the  disciples  of  Man-who-dreams. 

"  The  forked  tongue  is  stilled  now ; 
the  lying  mouth  is  closed,"  was  heard 
on  every  side ;  and  in  the  hour  of  his 
defeat  Father  Lacombe  went  sadly  back 
into  the  lodge  the  chief  had  set  apart 
for  his  use.  That  night  Stony  Jack 
disappeared,  and  also  the  pony  the  priest 
had  bought  for  him  when  they  started 
out  on  their  journey. 

Day  after  day  the  priest  suffered  a 
humiliating  persecution;  the  squaws 
spat  at  him,  and  the  boys  stoned  him ; 
the  very  dogs  of  the  camp  snarled  at 
him  and  snapped  at  his  heels  as  he 
passed  —  snarled  and  snapped  unmo 
lested,  for  even  a  dog  was  better  than 
this  false  prophet,  this  false  guide,  who 
had  sought  to  lead  them  away  from  the 
Happy  Hunting-Ground.  "  Even  the 
Stony,  who  has  listened  to  his  voice 
198 


God  and  the  Pagan 


before,  has  left  him  —  has  slunk  away 
like  a  coyote  from  a  dry-picked  skele 
ton,"  sneered  Man-who-dreams.  He 
was  given  the  entrails  of  the  buffalo  for 
food  —  for  why  did  he  linger  among 
them? 

Day  after  day  the  great  heart  kept 
the  face  smooth  and  untroubled;  day 
after  day  the  deep,  sweet  voice  called 
to  his  Master  for  strength  to  bear  it  all. 
On  the  night  of  the  eleventh  day,  Fa 
ther  Lacombe's  cayuse,  which  was  pick 
eted  close  to  his  lodge  there  on  the 
outer  rim  of  the  encampment,  neighed 
joyfully.  The  priest  threw  ashes  over 
the  little  blazing  camp-fire,  and  stole 
out  into  the  darkness.  After  a  little  he 
returned.  In  the  morning,  before  the 
sun  had  yet  roused  the  sleepy  Indians, 
he  mounted  his  pony  and  galloped  in 
and  out  among  the  tepees,  as  Man- 
who-dreams  had  on  that  other  day. 
199 


God  and  the  Pagan 


Strong  and  clear  was  the  voice  of  the 
priest  calling :  "  Hi,  hi !  Ho-o-o,  bro 
thers  !  Come  forth  and  hear  the  answer 
I  have  prepared  for  Man-who-dreams ! " 

"At  last  the  little  priest  has  loosed 
his  forked  tongue,"  sneered  Man-who- 
dreams. 

Lazily  the  Indians  turned  out  from 
their  tepees,  cursing  the  white  priest 
for  disturbing  them;  and  many  a  grim 
resolve  was  made  in  the  discomfort  of 
the  cold  morning  —  resolves  that  boded 
ill  for  Father  Lacombe  if  his  answer 
was  not  a  good  one.  When  the  In 
dians  had  all  gathered  in  front  of  his 
lodge,  Father  Lacombe  spoke. 

"  Brothers,  you  who  are  children  of  my 
Master,  you  have  heard  your  medicine 
man  tell  how  White  Eagle,  chief  of  the 
Kootenay,  died  and  went  to  the  Happy 
Hunting-Ground.  If  that  is  true,  I 
have  no  answer  to  make.  If  it  is  not 


200 


God  and  the  Pagan 


true,  then  he  speaks  with  a  forked  tongue. 
He  is  a  liar,  and  has  deceived  you." 

As  these  words  dropped  from  his  lips 
there  was  a  rustle  at  the  opening  to  his 
lodge,  and  three  Indians  stepped  forth. 
The  first  one  was  Stony  Jack ;  the 
other  two,  as  could  be  seen  by  their 
dress  and  mode  of  wearing  their  hair, 
were  from  the  land  of  the  Kootenay. 
Father  Lacombe,  with  true  theatrical 
genius,  professed  to  be  surprised. 

"  Who  are  you  *?  Where  do  you 
come  from  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  one  who  wore  the  eagle  feathers 
of  a  minor  chief  spoke  and  said  :  "  We 
are  from  the  Kootenay.  I  am  son  of 
the  great  chief,  and  this  is  his  nephew." 

Father  Lacombe  turned  to  the  aston 
ished  Indians.  "  The  Great  Spirit  has 
sent  these  men  here.  Now  we  shall 
have  confirmation  of  what  Man-who- 
dreams  has  told  you. 

201 


God  and  the  Pagan 


"  How  long  since  your  father  died 
and  went  to  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Ground  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  Kootenay 
chief. 

A  smile  parted  the  thin  lips  of  the 
Indian  as  he  answered:  "My  father  did 
not  die;  he  did  not  go  to  the  Happy 
Hunting-Ground ;  he  has  been  with  us 
always." 

"What  the  chief  says  is  true,"  an 
swered  the  other  Indian,  when  Father 
Lacombe  questioned  him.  "  His  father, 
our  chief,  has  been  with  us  always." 

Then  Father  Lacombe  preached  to 
those  Blackfoot  as  he  had  never 
preached  before.  Great  as  had  been 
the  eloquence  of  Man-who-dreams,  it 
was  not  more  powerful  than  the  impas 
sioned  utterances  of  the  priest,  who  had 
lain  twelve  days  sore  at  heart. 

"  If  my  Master  has  not  sent  me 
among  you,"  he  asked,  "  why  have  I 

202 


God  and  the  Pagan 


come1?  Why  have  I  given  up  the 
luxury  of  a  comfortable  home,  where 
there  are  warmth,  and  plenty  to  eat  and 
to  drink,  and  friends  and  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  father  and  mother,  and  peo 
ple  who  worship  the  same  God  that  I 
do?  For  what  have  I  given  all  these 
up  *?  Is  it  to  share  your  cold  and  your 
hunger,  to  be  abused  even  as  one  of 
your  hogs'?  Is  it  for  this  —  to  lie  on 
the  ground  *?  Is  this  better  than  the 
other  life  —  the  life  among  my  friends? 
If  my  Master,  God,  who  is  the  Great 
Spirit,  had  not  sent  me,  should  I  be 
here"?  It  is  because  He  loves  you  that 
He  has  sent  me." 

For  twenty  years  Father  Lacombe 
had  studied  the  alphabet  which  is  writ 
in  the  face  of  the  red  man,  and  when, 
exhausted  with  the  vehemence  of  his 
eloquence,  he  ceased  to  speak,  he  read 
that  which  was  solace  to  his  tired  heart. 
203 


God  and  the  Pagan 


An  Indian  would  demand  truth  even 
of  the  gods,  and  their  medicine-man 
had  lied  to  them.  Not  that  they  flocked 
to  Father  Lacombe's  standard;  but  he 
had  run  the  gantlet,  and  now  they 
took  him  as  a  friend,  as  their  enemies, 
the  Crees,  had  done. 

The  first-fruits  of  his  conquest  came 
to  him  that  night,  when  Crowfoot's 
brother,  whose  life  he  had  saved,  lifted 
the  flap  of  his  tepee,  and  stood  beside 
the  fire. 

"  The  white  medicine-man  seeks  for 
the  pale-face  captive.  She  is  with  Old 
Sun's  band,  and  they  are  camped  on 
the  Battle  River.  If  the  father  wishes, 
one  of  my  braves  will  show  the  trail." 

It  was  four  days  to  Battle  River,  and 
on  the  fifth  night  Father  Lacombe  sat 
in  Old  Sun's  lodge. 

He  did  not  speak  of  Ruth  to  the 
chief;  it  was  best  not.  If  she  was 
204 


God  and  the  Pagan 


there,  he  would  see  her  next  day.  Just 
before  he  said  his  prayers,  the  priest 
stood  outside  the  tepee  and  looked  up 
to  the  sky.  The  stars  had  gone  out 
—  blotted  out  by  the  gray  of  a  winter's 
night.  The  snow  was  falling  softly,  si 
lently;  a  great  peace  had  settled  down 
over  the  earth,  as  the  shroud  was  spread 
over  its  dead  body.  Yes,  peace;  but 
within  a  stone's  throw  hid  four  hun 
dred  Cree  warriors,  with  their  horses, 
waiting —  waiting  for  the  Blackfoot  to 
sleep. 

The  priest  folded  his  cassock  and 
made  a  pillow  of  it.  Just  across  the  fire 
slept  Old  Sun  and  his  squaw.  It 
seemed  to  Father  Lacombe  that  he  had 
been  sleeping  but  a  minute  when  he 
was  awakened  by  something.  A  dog 
was  smelling  about  the  fire.  He  saw 
Old  Sun  rise  on  his  elbow,  and  heard 
him  hiss  :  "  A  Cree  dog !  A  Cree  dog ! 
205 


God  and  the  Pagan 


We  are  betrayed.  Hi-hi !  "  his  shrill 
voice  rang  out.  "  Up,  braves,  the  Crees 
are  here ! " 

There  was  an  answering  yell  of  defi 
ance  from  three  sides  of  the  threatened 
camp  —  the  Cree  war-cry;  but  not  a 
rifle  spoke  yet.  They  were  waiting  for 
the  Blackfoot  to  get  on  their  feet,  so 
that  their  bullets  might  find  a  better 
target.  With  savage  cunning  they 
knew  that  shooting  at  men  lying  down 
and  in  the  dark  is  waste  of  ammunition. 
In  his  frenzy  Old  Sun  reached  over  and 
grabbed  the  priest  by  the  scalp,  drag 
ging  him  out  after  him  as  he  brandished 
his  gun  and  yelled  defiance  to  the  Crees. 
Then  a  volley  rang  out  from  the  guns, 
and  a  shower  of  arrows  came  hurtling 
among  the  tepees. 

It  was  an  unequal  fight,  fifty  against 
four  hundred  ;  but  they  stood  them  off 
all  night.  The  Blackfoot  were  camped 
206 


God  and  the  Pagan 


on  a  poplar  bluff,  which  gave  them 
some  protection.  On  their  flank  was 
the  frozen  face  of  the  Battle  River,  so 
the  enemy  had  to  attack  them  from  the 
open  plain  which  ran  up  to  the  bluff. 
The  Crees,  being  wood-dwellers,  had 
not  much  heart  for  fighting  in  the  open 
while  their  enemy  was  under  cover;  so 
this  prolonged  the  uneven  combat. 

Just  before  daylight,  Stony  Jack 
came  rushing  up  to  Father  Lacombe, 
and  said:  "  Come  quick,  father !  I  have 
found  her,  but  I  am  afraid  she  is  dying." 

The  priest  followed  his  guide  among 
the  trees,  and  into  a  darkened  tepee. 
As  he  entered,  he  stepped  on  something 
round  and  slippery ;  it  glided  from 
underneath  him,  bringing  him  to  his 
knees.  His  hand  touched  the  some 
thing;  it  was  wet.  As  he  hastily 
pulled  his  hand  away,  a  mass  of  soft, 
silky  hair  passed  through  his  fingers. 
207 


God  and  the  Pagan 


"  My  God ! "  he  cried,  "  it  is  she  !  At 
last  I  have  found  her,  and  she  is  dead. 
Oh,  Father,  grant  that  it  be  not  so !  I 
must  have  a  light,"  he  said  to  Stony 
Jack. 

"  If  the  white  father  makes  a  light, 
the  tepee  will  become  a  bright  mark 
for  all  the  guns  of  the  Crees.  But  Jack 
will  arrange  something."  And  gather 
ing  up  some  of  the  blankets  that  were 
still  lying  in  the  lodge,  he  circled  them 
about  the  head  of  the  wounded  girl, 
while  the  priest  struck  a  match  within. 

"It  is  she,"  he  said,  "and  God  is 
good,  for  she  still  lives." 

Intermittently  the  battle  was  still 
raging  on  the  outside,  and  at  daylight, 
when  he  had  done  all  he  could  for  the 
wounded  girl,  he  went  out  on  a  mis 
sion  of  peace.  Tying  his  handkerchief 
to  a  small  stick,  he  marched  straight 
past  the  line  of  the  Blackfoot,  pay- 
208 


God  and  the  Pagan 


ing  no  attention  to  bullets  and  ar 
rows,  till  he  came  to  the  top  of  a 
hillock,  from  which  his  voice  could 
reach  the  Crees.  Holding  his  flag  of 
peace  high  up,  he  called  with  his  deep, 
strong  voice  :  "  Ho,  brothers  !  Why 
do  you  shed  blood  ?  Why  do  you 
make  your  children  fatherless,  and  your 
mothers  to  weep  for  the  braves  who 
will  not  return  again  to  their  lodges'? 
Ho,  my  children !  It  is  I,  your  friend, 
Father  Lacombe,  who  asks  you  to  go 
away  in  peace." 

For  an  instant  the  Crees  hesitated ; 
but  blood  had  been  shed ;  many  of  their 
number  lay  dead  and  dying.  And  were 
not  the  Blackfoot  caught  there  in  a 
trap  between  them  and  the  river,  like 
a  herd  of  buffalo  driven  into  a  corral'? 
Silently  the  priest  stood,  beseeching  his 
Master  again  to  help  him  and  to  avert 
the  slaughter. 

209 


God  and  the  Pagan 


Meanwhile  a  dark  body  had  been 
moving  up  over  the  white  expanse  of 
snow;  but  the  fighting  warriors,  occu 
pied  with  the  battle,  had  not  noticed  it. 
Suddenly  with  demoniac  yells  it  swept 
down  on  their  flank.  It  was  a  party 
of  Blackfoot  hunters  who  had  been  at 
tracted  by  the  firing.  From  every  side 
the  lurid  war  blazed  forth  with  increased 
fury.  A  bullet  struck  the  priest  in  the 
shoulder.  Stony  Jack,  seeing  his  mas 
ter  fall,  rushed  out  and  carried  him  bod 
ily  back  into  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 
Soon  he  revived,  for  the  wound  was 
not  a  serious  one. 

There  was  fighting  all  that  day,  for 
the  two  parties  of  Blackfoot  had  united, 
and  together  they  held  the  Crees  in 
check.  That  night  the  Crees  silently 
crossed  the  frozen  river  and  got  away. 
Much  horse-stealing  and  little  fighting 
were  more  in  their  line. 


God  and  the  Pagan 


When  the  Blackfoot  got  back  to 
Crowfoot's  camp,  Old  Sun  told  how 
Father  Lacombe  had  gone  out  where 
the  bullets  were  thick  and  tried  to  get 
their  enemy  to  retire.  "  The  pale-face 
medicine-man  is  a  warrior,"  said  old 
Crowfoot.  "  What  present  does  the 
little  warrior  ask,  for  Crowfoot's  heart 
is  glad  <?  " 

"  Only  a  woman  ?  "  said  the  chief, 
when  Father  Lacombe  asked  for  Ruth 
Asquith.  "  Only  a  woman,  when  I 
would  have  given  a  horse1?  And  you '11 
bring  Crowfoot  a  pair  of  blankets  when 
you  come  back,  you  say?  Surely  the 
little  priest  is  not  as  wise  as  he  is 
brave."  But  it  was  that  way,  never 
theless. 


211 


HIS  PASSPORT 


HIS  PASSPORT 

IT  was  so  cold  that  winter  in  Canada! 
They  said  that  I  would  be  all  right 
when  the  warm  weather  came  in  spring. 
But  the  cold  lasted  so  long  that  I 
thought  spring  would  never  come.  At 
last  I  fell  asleep.  When  I  awoke,  the 
first  person  I  saw  was  Pathanine. 

When  I  had  known  Pathanine  years 
before  in  Burmah,  he  was  a  Buddhist. 
Even  at  that  time  I  had  suspicions  that 
he  was  a  Christian  according  to  my  ill- 
defined  lights  —  a  Buddhist  Christian. 

I  had  always  understood  from  the 
Reverend  Hoskins  that  the  Buddhists 
had  absolutely  no  chance  whatever  of 

"5 


His  Passport 

acquiring  anything  but  unmitigated 
torture. 

Hoskins  was  the  regular  station 
padre  at  Yenan.  He  was  a  small,  thin 
man  with  a  small,  thin  mind,  and  some 
times  I  used  to  think  that  perhaps,  after 
all,  he  might  be  mistaken. 

But  bearing  in  mind  Padre  Hoskins's 
version,  you  may  understand  I  was  very 
much  surprised  to  see  Pathanine  where 
he  was. 

Later  I  met  others  there  who  were  as 
unorthodox  as  any  Buddhist,  but  my 
wonder  at  first  was  concerned  with  Pa 
thanine  alone. 

Pathanine's  face  had  always  been  one 
of  the  most  amiable  that  I  'd  ever 
seen,  and  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  me 
advancing  toward  him,  it  took  on  a 
delightfully  sweet  look  of  pleased  rec 
ognition. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come 
216 


His  Passport 

here,  sir,"  he  said,  just  as  he  used  to 
when  I  returned  to  Yenan  after  being 
absent  for  some  time.  "  I  was  a  little 
lonesome,  sir,"  he  continued,  in  his  de 
lightfully  simple,  straightforward  way. 
"  So  few  of  those  I  knew  before  are  here. 
Perhaps  some  will  come  by  and  by." 

Everything  was  so  confusing.  I  had 
always  been  so  mistrustful  of  myself 
that  when  I  woke  up  there  I  was  almost 
afraid  there  was  some  mistake.  And 
then  to  meet  an  out-and-out  devotee  of 
Buddha  in  a  place  that  I  'd  always  been 
taught  was  reserved  for  Christians  alone, 
was  certainly  perplexing. 

I  asked  Pathanine  about  it. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  he  answered ;  "  I 
felt  like  a  little  rest,  and  when  I  awoke 
I  was  here.  I  hope  Ma  Thee  won't  be 
long  coming — Ma  Thee  and  Mindah." 

Ma  Thee  was  his  wife ;  Mindah,  his 
daughter. 

217 


His  Passport 

But  it  was  about  his  faith  that  I 
questioned  him  most. 

He  had  not  changed  any;  he  had 
sung  the  same  guttural  Buddhist  prayer 
up  to  the  very  last. 

"  Hoskins  Thakine  did  not  make  a 
Christian  of  you,  then  —  did  not  prove 
to  you  that  Gaudama  was  wrong  ?  "  I 
queried. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Pathanine ;  "  but 
my  brother,  Boh  Pyu,  who  was  a 
wicked  fellow,  tried  to  do  a  great  wrong 
to  the  Padre. 

"  You  remember  Boh  Pyu,  who  was 
a  captain  with  King  Theebaw  before 
the  British  destroyed  his  army1? 

"  Boh  Pyu  was  a  great  soldier,  but  a 
bad  Buddhist ;  for  when  the  war  was  all 
over,  he  continued  fighting  on  his  own 
account,  and  became  what  the  English 
call  a  dacoit. 

"  Sometimes  he  came  to  me,  because 
218 


His  Passport 

he  was  my  brother,  you  know,  sir,  and 
I  begged  him  to  be  less  wicked  and 
stop  dacoiting,  or  never  come  to  see 
me  at  all. 

"But  the  wrong  he  tried  to  do  the 
Padre  Thakine  was  this  way,  sir,  and 
because  of  me ;  and  for  that  I  had 
much  guilty  fear. 

"  You  remember  I  was  the  Woon 
of  Yenan,  and  Hoskins  Thakine  was 
always  writing  to  the  Commissioner 
that  I  was  not  making  my  official  work 
proper. 

"  Also  my  people  were  telling  me 
that  the  Padre  Thakine  was  speaking 
ill  of  me,  and  saying  that  if  they  be 
lieved  in  me  and  my  false  gods, — even 
the  sacred  Gaudama, — they  would  all  be 
burned  with  a  greater  heat  than  was  in 
Yenan  the  hot  days  before  the  rains. 

"  When  they  spoke  of  Nirvana,  he 
told  them  there  was  no  Nibban  —  no 
219 


His  Passport 

Nirvana;  nothing  but  torture  and  un 
rest  for  all  who  died  in  my  faith  —  the 
faith  of  my  fathers. 

"  But  when  they  did  not  believe  what 
the  Padre  spoke,  he  said  that  it  was  be 
cause  of  me ;  and  wrote  to  the  Com 
missioner  that  I  was  always  putting  his 
work  to  the  wrong  side. 

"  I  was  not  angry,  for  I  knew  he 
thought  he  was  right,  and  was  serving 
his  Master  even  as  I  was  serving  Gau- 
dama.  That  was  his  way.  My  way 
was  not  to  take  life,  not  to  eat  meat,  nor 
eggs,  nor  anything  that  had  life,  and  to 
give  alms. 

*'  To  his  church  I  gave  too,  for  they 
were  trying  to  do  good  to  my  people. 
He  did  not  know;  because  if  I  spoke 
of  it,  he  might  tell  the  Commissioner 
that  it  was  bribery. 

"  One  time  a  Burman,  Nat  Glay, 
who  had  joined  the  faith  of  the  Padre, 

220 


His  Passport 

spent  money  on  foolishness  that  be 
longed  to  the  Padre's  church, 

"Nat  Glay  came  to  me  because  of 
this,  and  he  was  afraid  of  going  to  jail. 
I  paid  the  rupees  for  Nat  Glay  because 
if  the  case  were  called  in  court  —  my 
court,  you  know,  sir  —  there  would  be 
much  disgrace  to  the  Padre's  church, 
and  Nat  Glay  and  my  people. 

"But  Padre  Hoskins  did  not  know  all 
these  things,  and  still  wrote  to  the  Com 
missioner  that  I  was  a  bad  man,  and 
what  he  called  a  '  pagan.' 

"  When  Boh  Pyu  came  in  the  night 
to  Yenan  to  see  me, —  for  he  was  my 
brother, —  Pho  Yet,  whose  tongue  is 
like  a  tucktoo's,  always  croaking  of  evil 
things,  told  Boh  Pyu  that  Hoskins 
Thakine  had  made  trouble  for  me. 

"  Then  my  brother,  who  was  also  a 
dacoit,  went  back  to  the  jungle,  and  I 
did  not  know. 


221 


His  Passport 

"  Many  times  after  I  got  letters  from 
the  Commissioner  to  not  make  trouble 
for  Padre  Hoskins,  and  all  the  time  I 
was  telling  my  people  to  do  good  things 
for  him. 

"  One  night  when  I  was  sleeping  Pho 
Yet  came  to  my  bungalow,  and  his 
tongue  was  speaking  with  much  fear. 
Boh  Pyu,  my  brother,  was  hiding  with 
his  dacoits  down  where  the  tamarind- 
and  mango-trees  are  thick  — just  where 
the  paddy-fields  come  up  close  to  Ye- 
nan.  You  remember,  sir,  it  was  where 
the  three  little  white  pagodas  rested  on 
the  hill.  Well,  Boh  Pyu  was  hiding  there 
till  my  people  would  all  be  sleeping, 
then  he  would  steal  down  to  the  church 
bungalow,  and  kill  the  Padre.  That 
was  what  Pho  Yet  said,  and  his  voice 
was  so  low  I  could  scarcely  hear  him, 
for  he  was  afraid.  I,  too,  was  much 
troubled,  sir;  for  there  were  none  of  the 

222 


His  Passport 

Sircar's  police  at  Yenan.  They  were 
at  Minbu,  twenty  miles  from  Yenan. 
Then  I  spoke  to  Pho  Yet.  '  Sabah 
will  gallop  to  Minbu  in  two  hours,  for 
he  is  strong.  Will  you  go,  Pho  Yet, 
and  bring  the  Police  Thakine*?'  But 
Pho  Yet  was  like  a  bazaar  pariah,  a 
skulking  dog.  He  would  yelp,  but  was 
afraid.  He  would  not  go  because  of 
the  dacoits,  and  because  of  the  evil 
spirits  —  the  nahts  of  the  jungle.  Then, 
sir,  Pathanine's  little  daughter,  Mindah, 
rode  Sabah  away  at  a  gallop  into  the 
dark  night. 

"  I  took  the  gun  which  the  govern 
ment  allowed  me  to  keep  because  I 
was  a  Woon,  and  went  and  spoke  to 
some  of  my  people.  They,  too,  were 
afraid.  If  the  dacoits  came  to  their 
houses  they  would  run  away,  because 
the  government  had  taken  their  guns. 
Anyway,  if  they  had  guns  they  would 
223 


His  Passport 

not  stop  to  be  killed;  for  the  dacoits 
could  shoot  straight  —  it  was  their  busi 
ness  to  shoot  straight.  Also,  they  had 
not  much  to  lose;  and  if  the  dacoits 
came  they  would  give  what  they  had — 
that  was  their  way.  It  was  easier.  If 
Boh  Pyu  killed  the  Padre,  that  was  not 
of  their  doing;  and  if  they  were  there, 
Boh  Pyu  would  kill  them  too.  Also, 
Boh  Pyu  was  their  friend  and  my  bro 
ther.  He  did  not  steal  from  the  poor; 
but  if  any  man  were  hungry,  Boh  Pyu 
would  give  him  rice  —  that  was  Boh 
Pyu's  way. 

"  I  went  down  by  the  mango  tope 
where  it  is  so  dark,  near  the  paddy- 
fields,  and  called  for  Boh  Pyu ;  but  no 
one  answered.  The  sound  of  my  voice 
raised  only  the  crows,  which  sleep  in 
the  big  tamarinds  there  in  thousands, 
as  you  know,  sir.  They  screeched  back 
at  me  like  a  thousand  evil  spirits  till 
224 


His  Passport 

my  voice  was  drowned.  Then  all  the 
pariah  dogs  in  the  village  took  up  the 
cry,  and  howled  as  they  do  when  a 
great  phoongye  dies  and  goes  to  Nir 
vana.  I  called  many  times,  and  looked, 
but  I  found  no  one.  The  dacoits  are 
like  the  cobra  —  they  hide,  and  you 
cannot  see  them  till  they  sting. 

"  Then  I  went  to  the  church  bunga 
low,  for  I  knew  the  dacoits  would  go 
there  too.  I  will  talk  to  Boh  Pyu, 
who  is  my  brother,  I  thought,  as  I 
walked  along,  and  keep  him  from  do 
ing  this  evil  thing.  I  was  thinking, 
too,  of  the  Padre  Thakine's  wife  and 
little  girl,  who  was  almost  of  the 
age  of  Mindah.  The  dacoits  would 
also  kill  these  women  ;  even  the  little 
girl  with  the  hair  like  gold  from 
Shwebo.  When  I  told  the  Padre  of 
the  dacoits  he  was  angry.  That  was 
his  way.  He  said  it  was  my  treachery — 
225 


His  Passport 

that  I  had  brought  them  there  to  drive 
him  from  Yenan,  so  that  my  pagan 
gods,  even  Buddha  Gaudama,  might 
destroy  the  souls  of  the  people.  I 
was  not  angry,  for  I  could  see  that  he 
thought  this  was  so. 

"  It  will  be  four  or  five  hours  before 
the  police  can  come,  I  told  him.  We 
must  shut  the  doors,  and  drive  the  da- 
coits  back  until  we  hear  the  beat  of 
their  ponies'  hoofs.  We  hung  a  light 
out  on  the  veranda,  just  at  the  top  of 
the  steps.  Inside  the  bungalow  was 
dark.  By  and  by,  while  I  was  watch 
ing,  I  saw  dark  figures  moving  in  and 
out  among  the  crotons  in  the  com 
pound.  They  were  coming  closer  to 
the  bungalow.  One  man  crept  up  the 
steps  to  the  veranda.  It  was  Boh  Pyu. 
I  called  to  him:  'Ho,  brother!  It  is  I 
—  Pathanine.  Go  away,  if  you  have 
come  for  evil!'  But  he  only  laughed, 
226 


His  Passport 

and  spoke  as  the  Burmans  do,  using 
bad  words.  I  said  I  would  shoot  him, 
and  then  he  crept  down  the  steps  again, 
and  it  was  still  for  a  time.  They  were 
talking.  It  was  so  odd,  Sahib,  my 
brother  Boh  Pyu,  who  had  come  to  kill 
the  Padre  because  of  me,  was  there  in 
the  dark,  and  soon  we  would  be  fight 
ing  like  enemies,  trying  to  kill  each 
other.  And  in  the  bungalow,  beside 
me,  was  Padre  Hoskins,  watching  lest 
I  do  him  treachery. 

"Only  the  little  girl  that  was  like 
Mindah  came  and  said  that  Pathanine 
would  drive  the  dacoits  away.  My 
heart  grew  much  stronger  because  of 
that.  Mindah  had  started  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  while  Boh  Pyu  was  talking  in  the 
compound  with  the  other  dacoits,  the 
Padre's  clock,  which  was  on  a  table, 
struck  twelve.  'Mindah  is  at  Minbu 
now,'  I  told  the  Padre.  '  In  two  hours, 
227 


His  Passport 

or,  perhaps,  three,  the  police  will 
come.' 

"  '  If  the  dacoits  break  in  before  that,' 
asked  the  Padre,  '  what  will  they  do  *? ' 

"'They  will  crucify  you  with  your 
head  down,'  I  said. 

"  '  And  the  women  ? '  he  asked. 

" '  I  don't  know,'  I  answered.  That 
was  a  sin,  Sahib,  to  tell  that  lie,  for  I 
did  know,  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
much  wrong  to  tell  them  what  I  knew 
—  the  mother  and  the  girl  that  were 
like  Mindah. 

"  '  And  you  *? '  he  again  questioned. 

"  '  I  shall  be  dead.' 

"Just  then  I  saw  the  figures  creep 
ing  close  to  the  steps  again  —  three  of 
them.  When  I  called  to  them,  they 
shouted,  'Strike!  Strike!'  in  our 
tongue,  and  rushed  up  on  the  veranda, 
firing  the  old  muskets  they  had.  I 
fired,  too,  and  one  of  them  dropped 
228 


His  Passport 

just  across  the  top  of  the  steps.  The 
others  went  back  into  the  darkness 
again.  When  they  fired,  I  felt  my 
arm  as  though  some  one  had  drawn 
a  sharp  nail  down  along  the  skin  —  a 
hot  nail.  When  the  dacoits  went  back 
I  looked,  and  there  was  much  blood. 
Something  from  one  of  the  muskets 
had  torn  my  arm.  The  girl  who  was 
like  Mindah  cried  when  she  saw  it,  and 
helped  her  mother  bind  it  up,  while  I 
watched  at  the  door  —  the  wooden  door 
with  lattice  in  it. 

"  Three  times  the  dacoits  came  back 
just  the  same  way,  sir,  only  fiercer  and 
more  wicked  each  time.  The  last  time 
another  piece  of  lead  from  a  musket 
went  through  my  body ;  and  my  heart 
grew  heavy,  for  I  was  getting  weak, 
and  I  could  not  yet  hear  the  gallop  of 
Sabah,  though  it  was  close  to  the  time 
for  the  police. 

229 


His  Passport 

"  And  the  Padre,  he  too  fought  the  da- 
coits  even  as  he  fought  against  Buddha, 
with  wicked  determination.  He  had 
no  gun ;  but  once,  when  two  dacoits 
had  forced  the  door  open  a  little,  he 
rushed  at  them  with  a  dah  I  had  given 
him,  and  smote  one  of  them  so  strongly 
that  he  lay  on  the  veranda  dead. 
That  time,  too,  they  were  beaten  back, 
and  we  waited  for  the  sound  of  the 
gallop  of  Sabah.  Even  while  we 
waited,  I  saw  a  light  at  the  posts  on 
which  the  veranda  rested.  While  the 
others  fought,  Boh  Pyu  had  set  fire  to 
the  bungalow. 

"  '  I  will  put  it  out,'  I  said. 

"  'You  will  be  shot  —  it  is  my  place 
to  go,'  said  Hoskins  Sahib ;  and  with  a 
blanket  in  his  hand,  he  dashed  through 
the  door. 

"  I,  too,  went,  because  if  they  attacked 
him  I  could  shoot.  But  Boh  Pyu,  who 
230 


His  Passport 

had  fought  much  in  the  jungle,  had 
planned  it  that  way. 

"You  can't  shoot  a  tiger  in  his  lair, 
he  knew;  but  if  he  comes  to  the  bait 
it  is  easy.  So  they  waited  till  we  got 
close  to  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  then 
they  shot  with  many  guns,  and  rushed 
upon  us.  The  Padre  Sahib  fell  because 
of  the  gun-shots ;  and  I,  too,  fell  be 
cause  of  another  bullet.  I  was  dizzy, 
but  I  rose  to  my  knees  and  shot,  once, 
twice,  just  as  they  were  reaching  Hos- 
kins  Thakine.  I  thought  of  the  little 
girl  who  was  like  Mindah,  and  called 
aloud  to  Gaudama  to  help  me.  I  heard 
Sabah  galloping,  for  the  road  is  hard 
where  it  sweeps  up  past  the  church 
bungalow;  and  then  there  were  many 
shots.  I  heard  an  English  voice  crying: 
'  Thank  God !  We  're  just  in  time.' 

"  Then  the  fighting  and  the  noise 
pushed  farther  off  into  the  dark;  and 
231 


His  Passport 

the  superintendent,  Gordon  Thakine, 
came  running  up  the  steps  to  where  we 
were  both  lying.  And  Mindah  came 
too. 

"  I  grew  more  dizzy,  and  I  could 
see  only  Mindah  and  the  girl  who  was 
like  Mindah  kneeling  beside  me.  And 
Mindah's  arm  was  under  my  head,  and 
just  as  I  fell  asleep  Mindah  and  the 
other  girl  kissed  me. 

"  When  I  woke  up,  I  was  here. 

"And  Padre  Hoskins  — "  I  asked  of 
Pathanine  —  "  was  he  killed  *?  " 

"  He  is  not  here.  If  he,  too,  had 
fallen  asleep,  he  would  be  here.  He 
did  not  mean  to  do  wrong,  and  thought 
to  do  good  for  my  people." 

Then  I  knew  why  Pathanine  was 
there. 

Padre  Hoskins  meant  well,  but  did 
not  know. 


232 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  SWEET- 
GRASS 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  SWEET- 
GRASS 

THE  CHILDHOOD  OF   SWEET-GRASS 

WHAT  the  great  Chief  Crowfoot  was 
to  the  Blackfoot  was  Sweet-Grass  to 
the  Crees.  He  was  the  Seneca  of  this 
great  tribe.  That  was  when  he  was 
Sweet-Grass. 

At  the  beginning  he  was  next  to 
nothing  —  a  wee  mite  of  a  copper-col 
ored  pagan  Cree.  His  father  had  been 
too  indifferent  to  even  fight  well,  so  he 
had  been  slain  like  an  obese  buffalo 
bull. 

In  the  hunt  there  was  no  warrior  to 
kill  the  buffalo  for  the  widow's  wigwam. 

235 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

She  followed  up  the  others,  and  gleaned 
what  they  left.  In  times  of  plenty  this 
was  not  so  difficult;  but  when  Hunger 
stalked  through  the  flapping  tepees  of 
the  Indians  in  the  winter  months,  the 
gleaning  was  nothing,  and  existence  for 
the  squaw  and  her  little  brown  papoose 
became  a  struggle  with  the  coyote-like 
dogs  of  the  camp  for  the  things  the 
others  threw  away. 

That  was  the  childhood  of  Sweet- 
Grass.  He  did  not  even  own  a  name. 
He  was  only  the  Nokum's  child.  No 
body  had  time  to  even  dream  a  name 
for  him.  If  in  the  scramble  for  bits  of 
jerked  buffalo  he  and  the  dogs  fell  out, 
and  he  struck  his  canine  rivals,  some 
body  would  retaliate  —  the  dogs  were 
in  the  right  of  it.  It  was  only  the 
Nokum's  child,  anyway.  The  dogs  be 
longed  to  somebody,  after  a  fashion  — 
so  many  to  each  tepee ;  but  Sweet- 
236 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

Grass  was  only  the  Nokum's  child.  His 
mother  carried  wood  and  smoked  meat 
for  others,  stripped  the  red  willow,  and 
made  kinnikinick  for  lazy  braves  with 
lazier  wives ;  and  in  return  she  was  al 
lowed  to  poke  through  the  offal  and 
find  her  living  there,  if  she  could.  She 
was  like  the  village  poor-woman,  with 
the  usual  boy,  who  scrubs  and  washes 
and  does  all  the  village  chores. 

Sweet-Grass  was  the  boy.  As  soon 
as  he  opened  his  eyes  on  the  pleasant 
world,  he  began  to  discover  that  life 
was  a  fight.  This  conviction  deepened 
as  he  grew  older;  and  the  village  out 
cast  always  grows  old  fast.  His  years 
outstretched  his  stature.  At  fourteen  he 
was  small,  but  hard  as  nails.  Fighting 
for  existence  did  not  tend  to  soften  him. 

At  fourteen  he  said  to  the  Nokum : 
"  Mother,  I  am  now  a  warrior.  I  have 
not  even  a  name.  As  I  lie  on  my  buf- 
237 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

faloskin  at  night,  the  wind  whispers  to 
me  through  the  grass  and  the  purple 
moose-flowers,  and  asks  me  what  is  my 
name.  What  can  I  answer,  mother1? 
"  I  answer  that  I  am  the  Nokum's 
child,  and  the  wind  laughs  and  sweeps 
away,  and  the  pack-dogs  howl,  and  my 
heart  grows  black  with  anger.  If  I 
were  a  maiden,  the  water  would  trickle 
from  my  eyes,  my  heart  grows  so  sad. 
But  I  am  a  warrior,  mother  —  a  brave  ; 
and  my  heart  beats  hard  and'  fast 
against  my  ribs,  and  I  know  that  it  is 
knocking  that  it  may  grow  —  grow  big 
and  strong  and  fierce  like  Black  Wolf's. 
Yesterday  a  big  black  eagle  flew  over 
the  snow  mountains,  and  his  shadow 
swept  like  a  cloud  across  the  grass  that 
is  like  the  yellow  gold.  He  flew  to 
ward  the  sun,  mother, —  south,  toward 
the  land  of  the  Blackfoot,  and  he  called 
to  me.  I  looked  up,  and  I  saw  his  eyes. 
238 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

They  were  bright  and  fierce,  just  like 
Black  Wolf's.  But  he  was  looking  at 
me,  mother;  and  he  whistled  shrill  and 
sharp,  as  though  the  Great  Spirit  called 
me  to  follow.  To-night  I  am  going, 
mother.  In  five  nights,  if  I  do  not  re 
turn,  it  will  not  matter,  for  I  have  no 
name.  I  will  bring  a  name,  if  I  come 
back." 

The  Nokum's  eyes  were  old  and 
blurred,  the  pupils  were  glazed  with  a 
bluish  cast,  and  the  whites  were  streaked 
yellow  and  red,  so  not  much  expression 
could  creep  into  them.  They  did  not 
tell  what  she  thought.  They  were  like 
badly  colored  beads.  Her  tongue  did 
not  know  how  to  give  expression  to 
sentiment;  her  poor  old  heart  tugged 
and  strained  at  its  lashings  and  hurt 
her;  but  she  was  used  to  pain.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  to  complain  be 
cause  of  pain. 

239 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

So  the  boy  looked  in  the  poor,  gnarled 
eyes,  and  saw  nothing.  The  white, 
withered  lips  told  him  nothing ;  yet  he 
thought :  "  The  Nokum  is  glad ;  she 
would  like  her  boy  to  have  a  name." 

He  took  his  bow  and  his  knife  and 
his  tenderly  feathered  arrows,  and  held 
them  in  his  arms,  as  a  lover  fondles  the 
roses  he  takes  to  his  lady-love.  It  was 
a  man's  bow,  for  the  boy's  arms  were 
like  steel,  got  of  the  fighting  with  the 
dogs  and  everything  else  in  the  camp. 

Cheap  little  bits  of  finery  he  togged 
himself  out  with  —  trifles  of  brass  tied 
in  his  long,  black,  shining  hair;  a  little 
remnant  of  bead-work,  blue  and  yellow 
and  black,  that  his  mother  had  saved 
from  the  deer-skin  shirt  of  his  worthless 
father,  he  fastened  about  his  neck. 
When  he  was  ready  to  start,  the  Nokum 
made  his  young  heart  bound  with  de 
light  when  she  handed  him  a  pair  of 
240 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

delicately  beaded  moccasins  —  they  had 
been  worked  for  a  young  chief. 

"  For  when  you  are  coming  back," 
she  said. 

Then  the  sky  swallowed  him  up. 
The  Nokum  saw  only  millions  of  stars 
blinking  at  her  as  she  sat  in  the  rent  of 
her  battered  old  tepee  and  looked  to 
ward  the  land  of  the  Blackfoot. 

Thus  the  childhood  of  Sweet-Grass. 


THE  NAMING  OF  SWEET-GRASS 

THE  Chinook  wind  blew  through  the 
feathers  of  the  boy's  arrows  and  rubbed 
against  his  cheek.  How  light  his  heart 
was !  For  fourteen  years  he  had  fought 
for  existence  without  a  name;  in  a 
few  days  he  would  come  back  again 
with  one,  and  wearing  the  beautiful 
moccasins  now  tied  up  in  the  little  pack 
on  his  back.  He  reached  up  his  hand 
241 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

and  patted  them  affectionately.  As  he 
did  so  he  came  to  earth  with  a  smash 
that  shook  his  body — he  had  put  his 
foot  in  a  badger-hole.  As  he  rose 
he  chided  the  rose-pink  flowers  which 
hid  the  hole.  They  were  the  badger- 
hole  sentinel  —  the  cleome. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me,  little 
brothers  *? "  he  said,  as  he  tore  them 
up  by  the  roots  reproachfully.  "  They 
could  not  tell  me  because  I  had  no 
name,  I  suppose,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
sped  on  again. 

The  thought  stopped  him;  he  turned 
and  called  back  to  the  crushed  blos 
soms  :  "  When  I  come  again  this  way 
you  will  know  my  name." 

All  night  he  traveled,  his  feet  crush 
ing  eagerly  through  the  bunch-grass 
and  the  silvered  wolf-willow;  the  long, 
purple-tipped  wild  pea  caught  at  his 
legs  and  caressed  them  gently.  The 
242 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

gaillardias  and  the  daisies  stared  sleepily 
at  him  as  he  passed  like  a  gray  shadow. 
When  the  light  began  to  steal  up  in 
the  east  he  crawled  down  into  a  coulee, 
and  hid  himself  like  a  coyote,  and  slept. 

That  night  he  traveled  again  —  across 
the  shallow  "Battle  River"  and  the 
shallower  "Nose  Creek";  before  morn 
ing  he  knew  that  he  was  close  to 
Sounding  Lake,  and  closer  still  to  the 
Blackfoot  encampment  he  had  been 
traveling  toward.  In  a  little  bluff  of 
white  poplar  he  hid  and  waited  for  the 
coming  of  day — the  day  that  was  to 
give  him  a  name  or  see  his  scalp  hang 
drying  in  the  tepee  of  some  Blackfoot. 
Close  to  where  he  crouched  the  Indians' 
ponies  were  herding.  How  his  heart 
throbbed  with  exultation  as  he  watched 
them  passing  in  and  out  among  each 
other  as  they  fed  ! 

As  the  gray  light  began  to  turn  the 

243 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

dark  brown  of  the  earth  to  orange,  his 
eyes  singled  out  the  leader  of  the  herd, 
a  heavy-quartered  chestnut.  Beyond 
the  horses,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
were  the  Blackfoot  tepees,  cutting  the 
bright  horizon  like  the  jagged  teeth  of 
a  saw.  Like  a  general  he  waited,  and 
strung  his  bow  taut,  as  a  musician  keys 
up  his  harp. 

"  They  will  come  to  the  horses,"  he 

* 

thought  —  "  some  of  them,  for  I  must 
have  scalps  as  well  as  ponies." 

His  heart  grew  warm  as  he  thought 
of  what  it  meant  for  the  Nokum. 
With  a  name  as  a  brave  he  would  take 
part  in  the  hunt,  and  a  share  of  the  buf 
falo  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  his  mother. 
She  would  always  have  plenty  to  eat. 
Something  gorgeous  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  a  medicine-man  in  all  the  awful 
grandeur  of  his  barbaric  splendor.  Eagle 
feathers,  paint,  bead-work,  and  charms 
244 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

seemed  to  have  been  poured  upon  his 
tall  figure  like  fruit  from  a  cornucopia. 
He  was  coming  straight  toward  the 
boy  —  coming  to  commune  with  the 
Great  Spirit  in  what  was  evidently  his 
private  prayer-ground.  On  a  gray  wil 
low  bush,  forty  yards  from  where  the 
boy  crouched,  three  pieces  of  red  cloth 
hung  limp  in  the  morning  sunlight.  It 
was  one  of  the  medicine-man's  propi 
tiatory  offerings.  Behind  the  medicine 
man  stalked  a  brave. 

"  He  is  coming  to  round  up  the 
horses,"  thought  the  boy. 

He  took  an  arrow  from  his  quiver, 
held  it  up  toward  the  east,  and  let  the 
sunlight  kiss  its  V-shaped  head.  Then 
he  placed  it  to  his  heart.  That  was 
that  it  might  go  with  unerring  aim  to 
the  heart  of  the  medicine-man. 

Then  he  knelt  reverently  and  kissed 
the  earth. 

245 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

The  steel-nerved  arm  drew  the  bow 
string  until  the  arrow-head  came  back 
against  the  hand  that  grasped  the  bow. 
The  medicine-man  was  standing  in 
front  of  his  red-streaked  bush,  his  lips 
muttering  an  incantation  to  the  particu 
lar  spirit  he  was  having  dealings  with. 
His  broad  chest,  thrust  well  out,  seemed 
to  invite  the  death-shaft. 

"For  mother's  sake!"  hissed  the  boy; 
and  "twang!"  went  the  stretched  sinew 
string.  The  jagged  iron  head  of  the 
arrow  tore  a  ghastly  hole  just  where  a 
streak  of  yellow  beads  cut  through  a 
bodyground  of  blue,  almost  in  the  cen 
ter  of  the  strong  chest  of  the  Blackfoot 
priest. 

Never  a  sound  he  gave — only  a  little 
hoarse  gurgle  as  he  fell  forward  in  a 
crumpled  heap,  and  writhed  over  on  his 
back,  where  he  lay  staring  up  at  the 
smiling  sky. 

246 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

The  boy's  brain  surged  hot  with  a 
blood-like  fury.  He  rushed  from  his 
concealment  and  pulled  the  feather  of 
another  arrow  to  his  ear  as  the  dead 
Blackfoot's  companion  faced  him.  It, 
too,  found  a  mark,  but  only  through 
the  shoulder ;  and,  too  eager  for  further 
combat  of  this  sort,  he  and  the  brave 
drew  their  knives  and  closed  in  upon 
each  other.  But  the  devil  was  in  the 
boy  —  he  had  been  blooded;  while  the 
other  man  had  an  arrow  in  his  shoulder, 
which  is  not  so  good  an  incentive  to 
fight.  In  a  few  minutes  two  Blackfoot 
scalps  were  dangling  from  the  boy's 
shirt-front,  and  he  was  taking  breath 
after  his  fierce  struggle.  He  was  mad 
with  delight  —  the  delirium  of  triumph 
was  strong  upon  him.  He  felt  like 
rushing  upon  the  whole  encampment; 
he  wanted  to  kill,  kill,  even  if  he  died 
killing.  He  pulled  a  handful  of  sweet- 
247 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

grass  and  dabbled  it  in  the  blood  of 
the  medicine-man.  He  held  it  aloft 
and  screamed  in  his  triumph.  His  high 
falsetto  voice  trilled  the  "Hi,  hi!"  of 
the  Cree  battle-song. 

That  was  the  first  sound  the  camp 
heard  from  the  battle-field. 

He  thrust  the  wet  grass  in  his  breast 
and  raced  for  the  horses  as  an  answer 
ing  cry  came  back  from  amongst  the 
blue  columns  of  upward-curling  smoke. 

In  his  pack  was  a  little  woven  horse 
hair  halter.  He  pulled  it  out  as  he  ran. 
He  had  lived  among  the  ponies  and 
dogs  in  his  own  camp — their  ways 
were  his  ways.  Two  or  three  of  the 
ponies  were  hobbled  as  sheet-anchors 
to  keep  the  others  steady.  He  tore  the 
hobbles  off — from  the  chestnut  stallion 
last ;  then,  grasping  the  strong  mane,  he 
swung  himself  on  to  the  eager  back 
and  started  the  herd. 

The  Blackfoot  warriors  were  running 
248 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

from  their  tepees,  but  the  Cree  laughed 
in  victorious  glee.  Round  the  herd  of 
ponies  he  dashed  on  the  chestnut  with 
a  wild  yell ;  and  when  they  were  fairly 
stampeded  he  swung  into  the  lead. 
Their  fast-beating  hoofs  pounded  the 
grass-knit  turf  until  it  gave  forth  a 
sound  like  the  roar  of  many  drums.  A 
shower  of  arrows  came  hurtling  after 
him.  A  few  of  the  Blackfoot  had  muz 
zle-loading  guns.  A  little  puff  of  smoke 
here  and  there  among  his  pursuers,  a 
tiny  white  cloud  of  dust  thrown  up  to 
one  side  or  in  front  of  him,  told  of  the 
useless  shots.  They  were  pursuing  him 
on  foot — they  had  no  choice,  for  he 
had  all  their  horses.  As  he  drew  rap 
idly  away,  he  uttered  once  more  his 
shrill  note  of  triumph.  Then  he  sat 
down  on  the  stallion  and  rode  with 
judgment — eased  him  up  a  little. 

All  that  day  and  all  the  next  night 
he  rode,  resting  his  band  of  horses  after 

249 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

he  had  forded  the  Battle  River  the  first 
evening.  At  daybreak  on  the  second 
day  he  sighted  his  own  camp.  The 
appearance  of  so  many  horses  in  the 
distance  excited  the  Crees ;  they  thought 
their  enemy  the  Blackfoot  had  swooped 
down  upon  them. 

When  the  boy  rode  into  camp  at  the 
head  of  his  footsore  troop  of  ponies,  the 
warriors  swarmed  about  him.  Modestly 
he  told  his  story,  for  the  long  ride  had 
quieted  down  his  spirits.  He  showed 
them  the  scalps  and  his  band  of  loot. 

The  braves  pressed  about  him  closely, 
and  felt  his  arms  and  his  legs  to  see 
where  the  strength  had  come  from. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  little  commotion. 
An  opening  was  made  in  the  crowd, 
and  the  Nokum  pressed  forward  to  the 
feet  of  the  tribe's  idol. 

"  My  boy,  my  boy  —  "  she  stopped 
short ;  her  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  blood 
250 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

on  his  breast.  "Are  you  wounded*?" 
She  thrust  her  hand  in  at  the  opening 
of  his  deerskin  shirt,  and  drew  it  back, 
clutching  a  mass  of  blood-stained  grass. 

"No,"  replied  the  boy;  "that  's 
Blackfoot  blood,  Nokum." 

"  It  's  sweet-grass,"  she  echoed  exult- 
ingly,  holding  the  well-known  grass 
aloft  in  her  hand. 

Contagiously  the  others  took  up  the 
cry,  "  Sweet-grass !  Sweet-grass ! " 

As  by  inspiration,  the  tribe  medicine 
man  stepped  forward  and  said  :  "  He  is 
a  brave  now.  He  must  have  a  name. 
Let  his  name  be  Sweet-grass." 

Thus  was  the  naming  of  the  great 
"  Chief  Sweet-Grass." 

THE  RULING  OF  SWEET-GRASS 

THAT  was  the  beginning.  Sweet- 
Grass  had  graduated  from  his  dog's  life. 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

The  braves  that  had  been  before  were 
as  nothing  to  what  Sweet-Grass  became. 
Black  Wolf,  who  had  been  his  model, 
was  soon  outclassed  by  the  pupil. 
Brains,  and  pluck,  and  muscles  of  steel 
made  the  little  man  the  greatest  among 
all  Crees.  He  was  an  ideal  pagan  ;  no 
glinting  of  a  light  that  illuminated  the 
wrong-doing  side  of  horse-stealing  and 
killing  shot  athwart  the  narrow  path 
way  of  his  pagan  mind.  If  there  were 
any  commandments  inscribed  in  the 
Cree  pantheon,  they  were  aimed  at  the 
extinction  of  the  enemies  of  the  tribe— 
the  Blackfoot. 

So  Sweet-Grass  served  the  Great  Spirit 
with  an  eager  vigor  that  left  many 
scalps  hanging  in  his  lodge.  He  stole 
horses  until  the  medicine-man  classed 
him  as  the  greatest  pagan  of  them  all. 
While  he  reduced  the  census  of  his 
neighbors,  his  own  tribe  waxed  popu- 
252 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

lous  and  rich  through  his  wisdom. 
Then  came  the  day  when  he  was  chosen 
chief;  and  even  as  he  had  been  the 
greatest  warrior,  so  he  became  the  great 
est  chief  the  tribe  had  ever  known. 

And  the  husks  had  ail  passed  away 
from  the  Nokum;  for  Sweet-Grass  hon 
ored  her  in  his  prosperity,  even  as 
she  had  toiled  and  slaved  for  him 
when  they  fought  with  the  dogs  for 
the  scraps. 

THE  CONVERSION  OF  SWEET-GRASS 

FATHER  LACOMBE  was  as  great  a  war 
rior  as  Sweet-Grass.  He,  too,  was  a 
fearless  brave.  His  bow  was  the  Chris 
tian  religion,  and  his  arrows  God's  love, 
feathered  by  his  own  simple,  honest 
ways. 

Through  the  Cree's  tepees  he  wan 
dered  at  will;  and  with  the  Blackfoot 

253 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

he  slept  back  to  back  on  the  sky-kissed 
prairie. 

As  a  rule,  an  Indian  does  not  re 
ceive  religion  with  open  arms  —  he 
is  not  looking  for  it.  He  has  other 
things  to  think  of.  And  though  they 
received  the  father  for  his  own  sake, 
his  Master's  commands  they  cared  not 
much  about. 

Father  Lacombe  was  working  his 
way  southward  through  the  Blackfoot 
country  one  morning  in  May.  He 
came  upon  a  small  party  of  Blackfoot. 
With  them  they  had  a  captive  —  a 
Cree  maiden. 

Practical  Christianity  was  part  of  the 
father's  creed,  and  he  determined  to 
rescue  the  girl  if  he  had  to  pawn  his 
Red  River  carts  to  the  Indians.  "  Camp 
here,"  he  said  to  them ;  for  a  bargain 
with  Indians  is  like  a  Chinese  play  — 
it  will  end  only  when  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  said  on  either  side.  So 
254 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

they  encamped  where  they  were,  among 
the  spring  flowers,  and  smoked  the 
pipe  of  peace  and  bargained  for  the  girl. 
The  priest  meant  to  have  her  free  at 
any  cost,  but  it  was  also  legitimate  to 
get  her  cheaply.  In  the  end  he  gave 
an  order  on  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com 
pany  for  a  sum  sufficient  to  bankrupt 
his  small  means.  He  took  the  girl 
with  him  on  his  southern  trip,  for  there 
was  no  way  of  sending  her  to  her 
people  till  he  should  return  in  the 
autumn. 

It  had  been  the  usual  order  of  Black- 
foot  enterprise :  the  war  party  had 
swooped  down  upon  the  few  Crees  she 
had  been  with  at  the  time,  and  killed 
them  all  but  herself.  Her  parents  had 
not  been  of  the  party. 

In  October  Father  Lacombe  went 
north  again  —  back  among  the  Crees. 
One  evening,  after  he  had  camped,  he 
saw  a  large  outfit  of  Indians  trailing  to- 

255 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

ward  him.  He  hid  the  girl  under  a 
cart  the  sides  of  which  were  draped  by 
a  large  canvas.  It  was  Sweet-Grass's 
party.  They  encamped  beside  the  fa 
ther  for  the  night. 

To  Father  Lacombe  the  Indians  were 
as  children;  to  him  their  lives  were  an 
open  book,  and  the  misery  that  was  in 
one  old  couple's  hearts  was  soon  poured 
into  his  sympathetic  ear.  To  an  Indian 
there  is  no  loss  so  great  as  the  loss  of 
a  child;  even  horses  are  less  to  be  la 
mented.  And  Many-Herbs  had  lost  a 
daughter;  the  Blackfoot  had  attacked 
the  party  she  was  with  in  the  spring,  and 
all  had  been  murdered,  even  the  daugh 
ter.  Father  Lacombe  had  opened  up  a 
gold-mine,  and  he  knew  it.  The  priest 
had  several  gifts  besides  his  great  gen 
erosity  and  his  wide  humanity.  He  had 
that  fine  dramatic  instinct  which  makes 
the  most  of  an  opportunity.  Evidently 
256 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

God  had  delivered  the  captive  into 
his  hands  that  good  might  come  of  the 
evil  which  had  been  done.  That  was 
the  priest's  way  —  profit  for  his  Master. 
Another  would  have  calculated  how 
many  furs  the  girl  would  exchange  for. 

When  the  father  spoke  of  hope, 
Many-Herbs  scoffed.  Alive  there 
might  be  hope,  yes !  but  was  not  Two- 
Winds  dead?  Could  the  priest  take  a 
stripped  wand  of  the  red  willow  and 
change  it  into  the  form  of  Two-Winds, 
and  alive  ?  Was  not  Sweet-Grass  also 
like  a  stricken  buffalo  ?  Two-Winds 
was  to  have  gone  to  the  chief's  lodge 
even  at  that  time  —  at  the  time  of  the 
great  hunts. 

"  Surely,"  thought  the  priest,  "  the 
Father  has  given  these  people  into  my 
hands."  If  Sweet-Grass  also  loved  the 
maid,  much  good  must  come  of  the 
rescue. 

257 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

Then  he  spoke  aloud  to  the  Crees 
and  prayed  silently  in  his  heart  the 
while.  Eloquently  he  told,  in  the  short, 
terse  sentences  of  the  Indian,  the  infi 
nite  power  and  mercy  of  the  Lord; 
that  if  they  would  only  listen  it  would 
heal  the  arrow-wounds  in  their  hearts. 

"  Will  your  God,  who  is  so  power 
ful,  give  me  back  Two-Winds'?"  cried 
Many-Herbs. 

"  Or  bring  her  to  my  lodge  *?  "  asked 
the  little  Sweet-Grass. 

"Have  patience,  my  brothers,"  said 
the  priest.  "  You  have  forgotten  one 
thing  —  you  have  forgotten  the  power 
of  this ! "  And  he  held  aloft  the  black 
cross  which  was  tucked  in  his  girdle. 

The  light  from  the  aspen  camp-fire 
flickered  against  the  brass  image  of  the 
Saviour  drooping  from  the  cruel,  hold 
ing  nails.  Surely  the  light  of  his  mis 
sion  was  in  the  gray  eyes  of  the  black- 
cassocked  man,  as  he  drew  himself  up 
258 


The  Conversion  of  Sweef-Grass 

to  his  full  height  and  held  the  figure 
toward  the  Indians  with  a  commanding 
supplication. 

It  was  Sweet-Grass  who  said :  "  Call 
on  your  medicine-man  to  give  us  Two- 
Winds.  If  he  can  do  that,  I  will  believe 
—  I  and  my  tribe.  The  Little  Father 
shall  have  five  horses  if  he  can  do  this 
thing.  I  have  spoken." 

The  chief  and  the  priest  were  old 
friends  —  almost  old  antagonists  on  the 
question.  Pere  Lacombe  knew  that 
Sweet-Grass's  words  were  like  the  flow 
of  the  Saskatchewan  —  a  thing  to  be 
depended  upon. 

"  And  I  have  heard  !  "  he  said,  as  the 
Creechief  ceased  speaking  and  placedthe 
long  stem  of  his  pipe  between  his  lips — 
"I  have  heard,  and  my  Master  has  heard, 
and  the  power  of  the  Cross  is  for  good  !  " 

Among  the  whites  Pere  Lacombe 
was  the  one  man  Sweet-Grass  trusted ; 
and  as  the  priest  spoke  he  started  for- 
259 


The  Conversion  of  Sweet-Grass 

ward  eagerly  in  a  half-famished  way,  as 
a  gaunt  wolf  eyes  a  life  that  is  just  out 
of  his  reach.  "  Two-Winds  *?  "  he  whis 
pered  huskily,  expectantly. 

"  Yes  !  "  answered  the  priest,  in  his 
deep  voice,  as  he  drew  aside  the  canvas 
of  the  cart. 

It  was  as  though  God  had  looked 
down  and  smiled  upon  the  camp  as 
Two-Winds  came  and  stood  in  the 
light  of  the  camp-fire;  the  same  light 
that  had  flicked  at  the  brass  Saviour 
streaked  with  bronze  the  black  mass  of 
her  hair  and  showed  the  great  love- 
light  in  the  sparkling  eyes. 

Pere  Lacombe  stood  a  little  to  one 
side  with  bowed  head,  his  hands  crossed 
lovingly  over  the  brass  Saviour  as  he 
held  it  against  his  breast.  The  power 
of  the  Cross  had  come  to  pass. 

Thus  was  the  conversion  of  Sweet- 
Grass. 

260 


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